Bending in the Archer's Hand
by nubianamy
Summary: Donutverse #7: Puck's got a secret, and Finn won't like it. Finn/Kurt/Puck, Will/OMC, Adam Lambert/Puck, Carl/Finn. Dom/sub, discipline, polyamory. Takes place during episodes 1.12 Mattress and 1.13 Sectionals.
1. Chapter 1

_(Author's note: Welcome to the next installment of the Donutverse! This story runs concurrently with the end of Just That Side of True, and by the end, the two stories will merge. It also parallels events in the episodes Mattress (1.12) and Sectionals (1.13). However, as my deep loathing for most of the characterization in Mattress causes me to pretend it never existed, I won't be dealing much with the commercial-and-Thunderclap storyline. We'll just assume it happened, or didn't, and it won't make much difference for our boys, all right? In the meantime, enjoy the story. Kudos if you can find the source of the title. –amy)_

* * *

><p>Puck woke in the middle of the night, but, for a change, he couldn't recall any dreams. The moon made a long stripe down the center of the room, shining through the window beside the bed. He sat up, looking around Finn's guest room. He'd been staying here most nights, now that Sarah had taken up residence in Kurt's extra bedroom. It was strange, to wake up and have no one to talk to, because Sarah was at the Hummel's. He wondered if she was awake.<p>

He got up and pulled on his boxers and wandered down the hall toward Finn's room. The clock read 3:38. With one finger, he touched the pictures of little Finn and a younger Carole that lined the walls of the hallway. There were no pictures of Finn with his father. It had just been the two of them, his whole life – and now, all of a sudden, there was Puck, and Sarah, and Kurt and Burt, who frequently filled the house to crowded. He wondered what Finn thought about that. Maybe he loved it; maybe he was annoyed by it. He didn't know.

He wondered when he'd gone from knowing everything about Finn to not being able to read him. Finn had changed in the past weeks. It was true, it was mostly to his benefit, considering the changes included some of the hottest, most satisfying sex of his (admittedly broad and varied) sex life. His eyes closed involuntarily as he thought of Finn, pressing him down into the bed on top of Kurt, spreading him open; not to mention Finn in the boys' room at school, talking him to orgasm without one touch – he shuddered, palming his cock through his boxers. _Definitely hot._

But it was the other part, the part that he had trouble looking at too closely, except when he was in the thick of it – this was the part that was making him tremble inside and his breath catch – that involved _letting go,_ giving up all the control to someone else, letting him drive the scene, and taking him places in his head and heart and cock and ass that made him feel - He laughed a little to himself. _Unbelievable,_ he thought. But there it was.

He'd never been one to deny himself something he wanted, but now it was becoming increasingly clear, every day, that he wanted _Kurt,_ and _Finn,_ in ways he hadn't even realized were part of him. His lips curled up in a faint smile. They _were_ part of him, those two boys, as much as Sarah was. As much as his – his –

He wasn't going to think about her.

He pushed Finn's door open a crack and peered inside at the unmoving lump that was his best friend. Finn had always slept hard. For a moment he thought about getting his guitar and playing one of the pieces he'd written recently, but then he saw Finn stir in sleep, and one long, hairy leg dipped from under the cotton comforter, and he was drawn to touch that leg, stroke his hand up and down along its familiar length. It was a heady feeling, to know he could now touch Finn anywhere he wanted, in just about any way, and he would be welcome.

He pulled the comforter back just enough, and slid in next to Finn on the narrow bed. Finn shifted again in his sleep, making a low, wordless noise of approval, and threw an arm across Puck's middle. Puck realized he was shivering, and huddled closer against Finn's body. Finn radiated warmth like a fucking furnace.

He allowed his eyes to close, and thought again of Sarah, alone at Kurt's house. He hoped Kurt would be there for her if she needed him.

* * *

><p>Kurt woke in the night to the sound of bright, cheerful music. When he stumbled into the basement family room, he saw Sarah huddled on the couch, wrapped in her fleece blanket, eyes fixed on the cartoon characters moving on the screen. His eyebrow went up. "Really?" he said, his voice raspy in the waking dawn.<p>

"I love early Bugs Bunny," she admitted. "So shoot me."

He padded over in bare feet to sit on the couch beside her, smiling at the antics of the Rabbit of Seville. "Have you seen What's Opera, Doc?" he asked, pulling her into the crook of his arm. She snuggled in and wrapped the blanket tighter around her feet, sighing.

"That one comes later," she said. "After the bullfighting one."

They watched in silence for a while, not even humming along to the familiar score. "Do you play an instrument?" Kurt asked at one point.

"Guitar, and bass," she said, "only a little, but I want to do it more. And flute, for, like, three weeks. It was totally lame."

"I used to take piano lessons," he said. "For six years. I really liked it."

She watched his face in the flickering light of the television. "Why don't you anymore?"

"I guess I had too many other things to do." He pursed his lips. "Glee kind of took its place this year. But I'm kind of missing the lessons."

"If you take lessons, you could teach me," she suggested. "That would be awesome."

Kurt considered the old spinnet piano upstairs in the front room, which hardly ever got touched anymore. "I'm definitely interested," he said. "I just don't know if I have time for one more thing."

"There's always time for things that make your heart happy," she said, and she put a hand on his chest. He covered it up with one of his.

"You make mine happy," he whispered.

"Yeah," she said. "Me too. It's nice having four older brothers."

He chuckled, feeling the warmth of her little hand through his t-shirt. "You know you're probably the only little sister in the whole world who would say that?"

She shrugged. "They just don't know what they're missing."

* * *

><p><em>1 text – Santana X. Lopez<em>

_6:44 am – Meet me in our room for breakfast? I missed you last night._

Puck grinned around his toothbrush at Kurt's text. He spit in the sink, then texted back: _me too _He paused, feeling a little flutter in his stomach, then added: _baby._

There was no response while Puck shaved his head and trimmed his mohawk, and he was wondering if he should feel nervous about that when he received: _That did something to me._

_Oh, yeah?_ He cupped the phone as, walking slowly down the hall to Finn's room, he tried not to be a total loser and stand around waiting for Kurt to text back.

Finn was sitting on the bed, tying his shoes. His smile was soft. "Dude," he said. "Waking up to find you, in my bed this morning. That was… awesome."

"I couldn't sleep," Puck said, grinning. "I figured you wouldn't mind."

"_Mind_ is not the word I was thinking of." He glanced at the phone in Puck's hand. "What's that?"

Puck sat on the bed next to Finn, holding out the phone, feeling inexplicably nervous. As Finn read their text history, Kurt sent back, _Something about that word from you._

Finn's smile faded slightly, and he looked inquisitively at Puck. "You're still calling him that."

"Not usually," Puck said. "It just… slipped out." He averted his eyes until Finn took his chin and brought him around to kiss him. He let out a moan, feeling Finn's tongue stroke his palate, and he let himself go, to feel the intensity and trust that only Finn could inspire in him. When their kiss broke, Finn held his gaze, and he was smiling.

"It's good," Finn said. "Don't worry. If Kurt wants it from you, it's good. Didn't you teach me this? No hiding, no lies. Right?"

"Yeah," he said, unable to look away. "I just – god. I love him so much. I don't know where it came from, but it's – kind of awesome."

"I know," Finn said. "I love him too." He touched Puck's arm reassuringly. "I'm not upset about that. What you have, it's different from what we have, but that doesn't mean one is better than the other." He indicated the phone. "You need to tell him."

Puck considered the screen of his phone, then replied, quickly, _I want you to be my baby._

"Nice," said Finn, and his breath came a little faster. He stroked a hand down Puck's shoulder, to his arm, and ended by gripping his hand. They waited together for Kurt's reply.

"I kind of feel like I just proposed or something," Puck whispered. Finn laughed nervously.

"If you're going to do that, let me know first, would you?" Finn whispered back, squeezing Puck's hand tighter. "So I can start saving up for a ring. Uh, two rings."

Puck almost dropped the phone. He stared at Finn in naked astonishment. Before he could say anything, the phone buzzed in his hand, and they both looked automatically.

_God, Noah, I can't think of anything I want more. But we should probably talk to Finn about it, don't you think?_

Puck felt the smile overtake his lips, and Finn laughed again. Then Finn's hands were stroking his face, and Puck was drawn into his mouth again, gasping at the force of it.

"Okay, Finn, you'd better get – oh." Carole's surprised expression at the door was mirrored by their own, and Finn cleared his throat, leaning away from Puck and straightening his shirt. "Good morning, Puck," she said. "I thought – when I saw the bed already made, I thought you'd gone."

"Hi, Mrs. – Carole," Puck said.

She smiled faintly at their stricken looks. "It's okay," she said. "I just didn't know you were here. Where are you guys tonight?"

"Kurt's," Finn said. "Mercedes is coming over. You can come for dinner, if you want. Puck's making alfredo."

"I think… I might have plans," Carole said.

"Really?" said Finn, with a little too much enthusiasm, and Carole shot him a tolerant grin.

"Maybe," she replied firmly. "Let's get a move on, okay? I don't want you guys to be late for school."

* * *

><p>Puck wasn't surprised to find Kurt waiting for him in their attic room at school, but he didn't expect the spread he found – or the table it was on. "Where'd you swipe this?" Puck said, impressed, and ran a hand along its pitted wooden surface. Kurt preened.<p>

"PTO thrift shop," he said. "Finn helped me bring it up yesterday while you were at social services with Dad." He leaned across the table with a kiss, then handed Puck a plate with a ham and egg sandwich on a croissant. Puck accepted with more hunger than he'd expected to have. Most mornings these days, he was vaguely nauseated, but not today.

"Thanks," he said, holding up the sandwich. He took a bite. "That's not bad."

"Big of you," Kurt said, but his eyes gleamed over his coffee mug. He watched Puck eat the rest of the sandwich, and then he cleared his throat.

"That… what you said this morning?" Kurt touched his heart, a question on his face. Puck nodded. "You really want that?"

"Yeah," Puck said. "I'm not sure where it's coming from, but I want it."

Kurt's eyes were steady and thoughtful. "Finn…"

"Was there," Puck insisted. "He wants us to have it."

The blue eyes widened a fraction, and Kurt looked almost frightened, but he just said, "And what does this mean for us? Do you still want me to take care of you?"

"Yeah," Puck said quietly. "I still want that." He put a hand out across the ancient, pock-marked wooden surface of the table, and Kurt took it. "Maybe sometimes, though, I can… take care of you."

"Noah." Kurt's word was little more than breath.

"There's a word for it," Puck said. "Alex told me: _switch."_

"Like, on… and off?" Kurt said, puzzled.

Puck hesitated, then stood, came around the table, and knelt before Kurt. "Like, Top… and bottom," he said, and laid his head in Kurt's lap. Kurt's breath caught, and he put his hand on Puck's head, stroking it.

"This is mostly how I feel, when I'm with you," Puck went on, his voice muffled. "I need this."

"I need it, too, sweetheart," Kurt whispered. His fingers traced the shape of Puck's ear, making him shiver. "So much."

"But sometimes I want other things," said Puck. "I figured you'd understand, because you're like that. With Finn, and me. Right?"

"Yeah," Kurt agreed. "But – wouldn't it be confusing, to have it, you know, _both_ ways with me? With one person?" He paused, wondering. "How would we know?"

Puck sat up, gazing at Kurt, and moved in a little closer, kneeling between his legs. He kissed Kurt, gently, then more insistently, and then finally, following that whispered drive inside him, rose to his feet. Kurt's gaze came up, startled, to meet Puck's, and his lips parted, letting out a tiny "oh" sound, at his expression.

"I think we'd know," Puck said, low and even.

Kurt's eyes flickered back and forth between Puck's mouth and his eyes. "I… think you might be right," he said, breath catching.

Puck's expression didn't change as he brought his hand up to cup Kurt's jaw firmly. "This," he said, and he felt a surge of sensation come over his skin, like an electric shock. It prickled in his hands and face and cock. He saw Kurt shudder. "You want this from me?"

"Do you?" Kurt challenged, thrusting his chin into Puck's hand. "You sure you can give it to me? You sure you _want_ to?"

Puck's lips twitched at Kurt's response. He let his hand drop to Kurt's neck, and Puck felt him swallow. "Yeah, baby," he said, making his voice drop, too, deeper, rougher. "I want it." Kurt made a noise in his throat. It vibrated against Puck's palm. He tightened his fingers, ever so slightly, and Kurt swallowed again, convulsively.

Puck watched his eyes carefully. "It's not a game, you know," he warned. "Not for me. I can't… it can't be a game."

Kurt shook his head as Puck loosened his grip. "I'm not playing, Noah." His own hand came up to capture Puck's, and he cradled it gently. "Yes… I can… switch, with you. I can feel what you need, and I can give you that." He planted a kiss on Puck's hand; Puck felt his lips like a brand. "As long as you don't want it _all_ the time."

"Want what all the time?" He pressed his hand back to Kurt's lips to receive another kiss.

"Either way, really." Kurt shrugged. "Sometimes I just want it to be, you know… just you and me. Just Kurt and Noah, without the power difference."

Puck shook his head. "I don't know, man. Sometimes I totally want to Top you, but mostly… I could imagine doing… that. Being your… sub." His face burned with the truth of his confession. "_All_ the time. Like, 24-7."

He watched as Kurt's face went through several emotions, in quick succession. Finally, Puck leaned into Kurt's chest, and Kurt circled his shoulders with his arms. "I'm pretty sure I'd never get anything done if you were like that around me all the time," Kurt said, hoarsely, speaking into the skin of his neck. "I'd just want to be… making you do things to me all day."

A tremor went through them both, and they shook with the intensity of it. "God," Puck said, with a groan. "Fuck. Yeah. I'd like that."

"Not really conducive to getting to class on time, Noah," Kurt warned.

"Right. Sorry." He clutched his fists in Kurt's shirt, just for a moment. His voice came quickly, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. "Do you think we could – you and me, we could – do that sometime? Go out, somewhere, and be – like that?"

Kurt tried to puzzle out the meaning of what Puck was asking, and shook his head. "Sorry, I need more words than that. Try again?"

Puck clenched his teeth. "I guess it would have to be, like, another town – where no one knows us. But I've got this image of me, following you around wearing a – a collar, like a fucking puppy on a leash, and I can't get it out of my head." He shook his head, feeling a surge of anger. "Stupid, I know."

"No," Kurt whispered, holding Puck tighter in his arms. "Not stupid… dangerous, maybe. Hot, definitely."

Puck felt the breath leave him for a moment, then return. "You think that's hot?"

"God, Noah." Kurt tensed, his hips nudging forward in the chair of their own accord. Puck ran a hand along the seam of Kurt's tan pants, feeling the hot, hard pressure of his arousal. "_Yes,"_ he hissed. "I think that's fucking hot."

Puck groaned again, tugging at Kurt's zipper. "Please, baby… let me…?"

Kurt looked at his watch and bit his lip. "I don't think I could sit through chemistry like this anyway," he said, with a rueful laugh. "Thinking of you - way too distracting."

Kurt might have said more words, but Puck wasn't paying any attention to them; he was too absorbed in watching Kurt strip off his pants, revealing the creamier white of his pale thighs, his lightly furred calves, and even before the pants could come off his other leg, Puck was already kneeling there, his mouth hot and wet and insistent.

"Locked?" Kurt gasped, glancing at the door, his hands sliding across Puck's back and shoulders to rest lightly on his head. Puck felt the meaning of his hands more than he felt the pressure of them there: _mine._

"Locked," Puck affirmed, and used his tongue to take away Kurt's power of speech. He reveled in that for a while, the music of Kurt's unashamed moans, but eventually he had to say something. He took Kurt's leaking cock in one hand and stroked him, speaking in a rush, knowing he would never have time to describe all the images in his head before Kurt was done, but needing to at least share this much.

"You said, the first time we did this, that you wanted… to dress me up," he said. "In leather, and take me out… show me off. Fuck, Kurt… I've jacked off to those words every day since then."

The sound Kurt made was scalding, like boiling water, and Puck found himself stroking himself roughly with his other hand, getting off on the pressure of the zipper of his jeans. He leaned down and took Kurt in his mouth, swallowing around the thickness in his throat, loving that feeling. _I fucking crave it,_ he thought, and it was true. In this moment with Kurt, he could just about accept it was okay for him to want it that much.

Kurt called his name, twice, and that about finished him, but when he muttered, "God, I want you inside me," Puck didn't think, he just stripped off his jeans in about five seconds, then dug in his backpack. Kurt saw what was in his hand and began to laugh.

"You carry lube to _school?"_

Puck shrugged, popping open the lid with one hand and applying it to his finger with the other. "It's good to be prepared."

Whatever else Kurt might have said was eliminated by Puck's fingers, pressing into him. He let out a strangled gasp and threw his head back, his eyes closing. "More," he urged. Puck felt his muscles clenching as he worked another finger into him, marveling at the heat of Kurt's body and the astounding grace of his reactions. "Noah – _please."_

"I'm here," Puck said, kneeling before Kurt's legs, spread open on the chair. He shook his head, overwhelmed. "I'm just – I have to look at you, baby. There's nothing more fucking beautiful than you."

"God," Kurt said, shocked, his eyes like blue pools. "I have no idea how to respond to that."

"Just know it's true," Puck said, leaning in to kiss him. The chair was not the perfect height, but it would do, if he spread his legs just a little… He gave himself one quick coating of lube from his wet hand, and he was there, nudging into Kurt, feeling his body open and adjust. He remembered Finn doing the same to him, but the memory was almost too intense; he wanted to last, wanted to stay hard until Kurt was satisfied.

They were face to face on the chair, and the motion of Puck's hips into Kurt's body was slow and easy. Kurt reached around and put one hand on Puck's behind, his other hand on his own cock. "I love this," Kurt murmured.

"Me, too," Puck said.

Kurt smiled. "No – I mean, yes, I love what we're doing, but I mean – I love _this."_ He squeezed Puck's ass, and Puck felt a surge of sensation that made him gasp. Kurt's smile went little smug. "Are you sore from last night?"

"A little," Puck said, and the memory of Finn's hand, Kurt's lap, stinging swats giving way to gentle comfort, led to another surge, and he breathed through it. "It's good. I like the way it feels."

"I know, sweetheart," Kurt said, stroking the small of his back. "I know just how it is."

Kurt did. He knew just what Puck got out of those spankings, as much as anyone could really know why they were so satisfying. He wasn't sure if Kurt got the appeal of the pain, in the same way – but maybe he did. "Do you want me to do that to you?"

Kurt's eyes were startled, and the answer came in the form of his hand clenching Puck's hip, pulling his body in forcefully against him. "I – I guess so," he gasped. Puck responded in kind, speeding up his thrusts, following Kurt's lead, and watching with satisfaction as he groaned and came explosively on his bare stomach. Puck let Kurt's contracting muscles draw his own orgasm out.

"Baby," he chanted, gripping his hips, riding it out; "baby, you feel _amazing."_

Kurt was silent in the aftermath, mouth open and eyes closed, leaning back in the chair. "I can't believe I ever thought this might be something I didn't want," he said, laughing a little.

"It's a hell of a lot more intense without condoms," Puck said, finding a tissue in his pocket and using it to mop up. "At least, compared to how it is with girls. I don't have anything to compare it to, otherwise." He slid out of Kurt and tucked himself, moist and smelling of sex, back into his shorts, resolving to pick up a box of tissues and wet wipes at the store after school. "Thanks for breakfast, baby."

Kurt sighed contentedly and dug his handkerchief out of his own pocket, putting himself back together, doing zippers and buttons and smoothing the fabric of his blue Marc Jacobs shirt. "This was – just what I needed," he said, his eyes smiling. "Last night, and today. I think I'm ready to face Friday now."

"Tonight – Mercedes, and us, at your house?" Puck said. He reached out and helped Kurt to his feet, feeling him stagger a little, and held him against his body, supporting him. _This is what it feels like to have a boyfriend,_ he thought, still disbelieving the reality of it, and feeling the warmth of him, his solid, slim presence. _We hold each other up. We take care of each other. _He thought, fleetingly, of Finn's comment about rings, and it made him dizzy.

"I'm looking forward to it," Kurt said, kissing him gently as he picked up his messenger bag. "See you in class."


	2. Chapter 2

Brad was already there when Kurt arrived a little early for Glee with a box of music from their attic room. He smiled over the piano. "Hey," Brad said. "How's Puck doing?"

"He's better," Kurt nodded. "Sarah's been staying at my house."

"How's that going?" Brad idly played the first few bars of Joplin's Maple Leaf Rag.

Kurt set the box of music down just inside the door to the choir office, then returned to lean on the piano, his head resting on his folded arms. "They're working things out with social services. Their mom is a little crazy, but luckily Puck's brother's around to watch after her, for now, anyway. We don't know what's up, but we're trying to give Puck and Sarah as much support as we can, my dad and me."

"Your dad – he knows about you two?" Brad raised an eyebrow, still playing, at Kurt's nod. "You three?"

"All our parents know," Kurt said. "Puck's mom is - not so supportive. But my dad is great, and Finn's mom, she's fantastic." He grinned. "She's kind of dating my dad."

Brad started to laugh. "You're kidding. Well, that puts an unusual spin on things."

"Tell me about it," Kurt said, making a face. He watched Brad's hands dance through the familiar ragtime piece.

Brad stopped and pulled out a book of Diabelli duets. "You play piano, right?"

"I used to," Kurt said, shrugging.

"Aw, come on. You wrote those parts for the Hair song. I heard you play. You do just fine." He set the music up on the piano and slid down the bench, to sit in front of the lower half of the keyboard. "C'mon. Take a look at this scherzo."

Kurt sat gingerly on the bench, glancing at the duet. "All right," he said, giving Brad a tentative smile. Brad counted out a tempo and they began approximately together. It was a stumbling start, but the piece was simple and Kurt quickly gained confidence. The second time through, they went faster, and he was able to impart a sense of dynamic and movement in the piece. He ended triumphantly in sync with Brad, laughing. "That was fun!" he said, a little breathless.

"You know what you need?" Brad said. "Lessons with a teacher who can help you with your technique. You've got excellent musical instincts, Kurt, and I know you have a good sense of music theory. You just need a little practice and refinement." He tapped the music before them. "Take this home; they're simple enough. Play through the first four or five pieces. Then come to my studio, and we'll take them apart."

Kurt paged through the Diabelli book and looked sideways at Brad. "Really?"

"Absolutely," he said. He scribbled a phone number on the cover. "Just give me a call when you're ready. No pressure. I know how much work it takes to juggle two relationships. In the meantime, work on some scales to get your chops back."

"Thanks," Kurt said, smiling. "It's nice of you to offer."

"Well, this is what I do the other half of the day, when I'm not at McKinley. And to be honest, Andi and Laurie have been wanting to meet the kids who are brave enough to attempt a triad in high school." He grinned and disappeared into the choir room, leaving Kurt to his scales.

Kurt was still practicing when Rachel interrupted with a request to create a "gaylesball," which sounded like some kind of scary dance party. All he could do was peel away from her in confusion and disdain. _Some days Rachel can be almost nice,_ he thought, shaking his head, _and then she comes up with a weird idea like this._

But the request stuck with him the rest of Glee. _A Gay/Lesbian Alliance? If we throw an "allies" in there, we might actually get a few people attending. Gaga knows McKinley could use a club like that. _He considered that Finn and Puck could even attend, without coming out, if they wanted to. They would be showing support for Kurt - their friend.

Mr. Schue took them through True Colors again, but he seemed distracted, and after class he hurried to pick up his jacket and bag. Kurt saw Brad lean in and murmur, "Say hi to Toby for me."

"I'll do that," replied Mr. Schue, smiling. Kurt thought he saw something in his eyes he hadn't seen there for weeks – excitement; anticipation – that went beyond Glee club getting a picture in this year's Thunderclap. He watched Mr. Schue hurry out the door with barely disguised curiosity.

Finn put away his drums as slowly as he could, while Puck and Santana flirted in the back of the room. Kurt didn't pay them any attention, the memory of his morning with Puck secure in his mind, absolutely certain anything going between him and Santana, or anyone else, was dwarfed by what he and Finn and Puck had, together. It made him courageous, and he seated himself at the piano next to Brad.

"Who's Toby?" he asked casually, flipping through the Diabelli exercise book and propping it on the piano.

Brad gave him a keen glance. "Toby's our best friend from college," he said. He opened the book again and creased it more deeply. "He teaches dance at the Denver School for the Arts."

"Mr. Schue's going to visit him this weekend." Brad nodded, and Kurt gazed across the piano levelly at Finn, who was tucking the snare drum into the supply closet.

"He seemed pretty excited to be going out there," Kurt murmured.

Brad nodded again. "I think he's going to tell Toby about Terri being pregnant."

"Hmmm. Sound ominous. How's _that_ going to go over, do you think?" Kurt raised an eyebrow at Brad, who grinned.

"Fine, since I already told Toby about the baby weeks ago. We've been friends for almost twenty years. I should know by now how things have got to work." Brad stared, unseeing, at the music, then shook his head. "Toby loves kids, and he knows how much Will and Terri have wanted this. He'll be happy for him."

"I'm sure," said Kurt, and Brad gave him another piercing look before counting out the tempo and launching into the alla turca.

After that, they wound up playing the rondo allegro at a ridiculous tempo that had Kurt tripping over his fingers and laughing hysterically. By then, Puck had bid Santana adieu, and the three boys and Brad were the only ones left in the choir room.

Finn didn't bother to conceal the grin on his face as he approached Brad and Kurt at the piano. "So, is this, like, a piano player's jam session, or what?"

"We're just sight reading these duets," Kurt said, feeling the usual thrill he got when Finn's crooked smile was aimed at him. "My fingering is incredibly rusty."

"For Pete's sake, Hummel – can you feed me _any_ better straight lines than that?" Puck said from across the room, and Kurt found himself sputtering out a completely useless retort as Finn cracked up. Brad looked like he was suppressing a smirk.

"Well, it sounded good from here," Finn offered. Kurt smiled gratefully while simultaneously glaring at Puck, but he felt a warm glow in the pit of his stomach. Brad put a name to it.

"It's nice to see you guys being yourselves around each other for a change," he said quietly, closing the music and handing it to Kurt. "Give me a call when you're ready for that lesson, okay, Kurt?"

Puck wandered over as Brad packed up his bag and headed out with a wave. "I need to stop at the store for some cream for the alfredo," said Puck. "Does Mercedes drink? I could pick up a bottle of something to go with it, if Carole and Burt aren't joining us."

"She said they might be going out," Finn said. "What was that stuff about a lesson, Kurt?"

"Brad offered me piano lessons," Kurt said absently. "Did you guys know Mr. Schue is going to Denver to see his best friend this weekend?"

"I thought Brad was his best friend?" Finn said, holding the door for Kurt and Puck. Kurt's hard-soled shoes made echoes off the empty hallway walls. "So are you going to do it?"

"Huh?" Kurt said. "Oh – the lessons. Maybe. Sure."

"Well, you sure looked happy when you were playing," Finn said. "I think you need to do more things like that. I liked that look."

Kurt glanced around them nervously, but nearly everyone had gone home, and the school was silent. "I bet I could think of a few things that would make _you_ happy," he said quietly, resting a hand just for a moment on Finn's chest. Finn kept his smile brief, but it lit his eyes.

"Did you guys have a nice morning?" he said, glancing at Puck, who chuckled.

"You could say that." Puck's eyes roved over Kurt, just once, but it was enough. _I might be offended,_ Kurt thought, blushing, _if he wasn't so incredibly, ridiculously hot. And mine. _"I'll get the wine, and the cream. Anything else you're wanting with dinner?"

"Do you need to ask?" Kurt said, tipping his head, and Puck laughed. He hadn't laughed much lately; Kurt hadn't realized how much he'd missed it.

"Okay, mushrooms. Anything _else?"_

"Those funny green flower things, that you peel apart and eat the leaves with butter?"suggested Finn.

"Artichokes?" Puck shrugged. "They're past their fall season, but I can probably find some. And, dude, they're way better with aioli."

"I have no idea what that is, but I'll look forward to trying it." He hesitated. "I wanted to tell you… I have an appointment at 4:30 with that guy, the one that Sam and Dean put us in touch with. Remember?"

"The pro Dom?" Puck said, his eyebrows going up. "I ran into him in the hallway at my lawyer's office – I guess they share office space. I can't remember what he does, though. He's not a lawyer."

Finn's brow wrinkled. "What are you doing talking to a lawyer?"

"Oh – it was for me and Sarah. To get help, to make sure we had some backup in case things went, you know, bad. With Ma." Puck looked uncomfortable, but Finn didn't press him. "Anyway, he seemed nice enough. Will you let us know… what you learn?"

"Yeah," said Finn. "If he seems like a reasonable guy, I figured we'd all meet with him. But I wanted to make sure he wasn't creepy or a psycho first. Not that Dean would steer us wrong, but…" Finn touched Puck's sleeve. "I hope he can help us figure things out."

"I don't know; I think we're doing pretty well on our own," Kurt said, smiling. "But it doesn't hurt to have somebody to talk to. Assuming he's not going to get us in trouble with any authorities."

Finn's voice grew quiet. "You think we're doing something wrong?"

"No," said Kurt, just as quiet, "but I think grownups are pretty good at telling kids they shouldn't do… stuff like we do."

They parted without ceremony, but Kurt felt the closeness of that conversation even after they'd left him at his locker. He decided later that it was that dreamy state of connection, coupled with speculation about Mr. Schue's trip to Denver. that had distracted him. Whatever it was, he didn't even notice Azimio and Karofsky until they were suddenly right there next to him, their leering faces filling up the space in the air like parade floats.

"Getting a little cozy with the football players, hey, Hummel?" Karofsky said, leaning in. He'd grown a lot this year, both up and out, and Kurt was acutely aware of how small his size eight shoes and slim arms were by comparison.

"Is it any of your business, Karofsky?" he said icily.

"Yeah," said Azimio, giving him a nudge on his shoulder, pushing him into the locker. "It sure is our business. I'll be dealing with your buddies later. Right now, it's your turn."

"Really brave of you," Kurt shot back, trying not to think about the empty hallways around them, "two on one, with no witnesses." He wondered desperately if there was a way he could get to his cell phone and press redial, to get a call through to Finn, but the phone was in his messenger bag. _Stupid – jeans too tight to fit a phone in the pocket. _

"I don't know," Karofsky said, his voice dangerously soft now. "Two on one sounds like just about your speed."

Kurt's heart stopped for a beat, two, but he forced himself to sneer back, "In your wet dreams, hamhock."

Kurt would never have expected the next look on Karofsky's face. It was positively _furious._ "You have _no_ fucking idea who you're messing with, Hummel," he spat.

"Who _I'm_ messing with?" Kurt protested, but Karofsky and Azimio were already manhandling him, forcing him flat against the lockers, shaking him until he dropped his bag – _my phone!_ he screamed in his head, along with the words _Finn_ and _Noah_ –and wresting his body shoulder-first into his locker. His left ear banged hard against the hook in the back, making him see stars, but he managed not to cry out. _He wouldn't give them the satisfaction._ They slammed the door, and it was abruptly dark.

The locker was cramped and small and smelled like his gym bag when he forgot it at school for two days. In the corner of his mind that wasn't panicking, he resolved to bring an air freshener to affix to the back, tomorrow. "I hope you're proud of yourselves," he shouted, his voice absurdly loud in the enclosed space. He heard a snide laugh from Azimio.

"I think I'll go home and put a gold star on my Kick-A-Faggot chart," he said, his voice growing fainter as they made their way toward the exit.

Kurt could turn his head to the right, but not the left; he could move his hands a little, but he couldn't bend his elbows. If he leaned against the back of the locker and squatted down, he could make enough room to let him move his head more freely, but then he almost got stuck and couldn't straighten up.

For the next five minutes he tried yelling for help as loud as he could, but pretty soon he realized it was just hurting his voice, and he wasn't getting anywhere. He couldn't even tell if anyone could hear him. Then he tried kicking with the toe of his suede Manolo Blahnik shoes, but every impact was an imagined scuff and a slam to his wallet – _that's $400, down the drain._ He couldn't get enough leverage, anyway, to make a good kick. He tried his fists, with the same effect, in addition to bruising the side of his hand.

Kurt tried to calm his breathing, making it slow and shallow, tried to slow the flutter-scatter of his pulse, but his brain just kept returning to the panic of _I can't spend the whole night here, I can't, I have to get out, I can't, I can't. _He gave in for a few minutes and sobbed, screaming, knowing it was useless, but hoping that it might make him feel a little better.

It didn't.

Afterwards he was able to get one hand up to his face and wipe the snot and tears from his eyes and nose, cleared his vision well enough to be able to see the light filtering in through the air vent was still strong. He wasn't sure how many minutes had already passed. It felt like hours, but his rational mind was still kicking, and supplied the idea that it had probably only been about ten.

"Finn," he whispered, "and Noah. Finn and Noah. They're waiting for me at home. They'll come back and find me. Finn, and Noah." But the truth was more ominous, that Puck was at the store, and would be thoroughly distracted by planning and cooking for at least an hour, and Finn was meeting with the pro Dom, and he might be even longer. No one would miss him until the building had already been locked. He needed to find another way out… or get comfortable for the long wait until morning.

Kurt tried not to think about his bladder, not yet particularly full, but knowing it would be in a few hours, nor the feeling of stuffy oppressiveness that was already settling in as he was using up his oxygen. He kept his ears open for sounds in the distance as he felt in his pockets for anything that could be used as a tool. A handkerchief… his house key… a couple coins. Nothing that was a clear winner.

Then he wondered, _Would locker-makers count on kids being stupid enough to lock each other inside? Maybe there's an escape latch._ He wrestled his hands around so they were in the front, which involved some complicated bending of his neck, but eventually he was able to feel the inside of the door, where the lock was affixed to the steel structure. His breath was hot and he could feel the sweat collecting at the base of his spine, making a wet spot on his shirt. _Come on,_ he pleaded with the locker-makers. _Kids are awful. If you make lockers big enough for the smallest of us to fit in, be smart enough to have thought of this._

But his fingers couldn't make sense of the pieces of metal extending from the lock, though he could feel the ridges of the back of the mechanism, and a sharp – _ouch!_ He couldn't even put his lacerated fingers into his mouth. It was the most frustrating insult to injury, and he shouted, _"Fuck!"_ as loud as he could. That felt good enough that he did it a few more times.

The school was quiet after that, for a while, and he made himself as comfortable as he could, wedging himself down against the cold metal wall of his prison, and waited. A while later he let his mind find a mindless tune, and began to hum along.

After an interminable amount of time had passed, Kurt found his eyelids growing heavy. Whether it was the torpor that came with being in a low-oxygen environment or the exhaustion from standing up to Azimio and Karofsky, he didn't know, but he passed out for a while.

When he woke, it was dark. He heard footsteps, coming down the hall, and at first he didn't realize what they were. Then he opened his mouth and shouted, "Help!" except it came out like a croaking whisper. He swallowed on a dry mouth and tried again. "Hey – I'm in this locker!"

The footsteps stopped, then resumed, more slowly. He heard a low chuckle, but he couldn't tell if it was friendly or not. "Hey!" he said a third time. "Number 734. Can you get a custodian?"

"Ladyface? Is that you?"

Kurt would have said, until he heard that voice, that he'd never been so happy to hear footsteps in his life. Now that he knew who they _belonged_ to, he was considering going mute again until she gave up and went home. Then he thought about spending the night in the locker – and the fact that he _really_ needed to pee now – and sucked up his pride. "I'd prefer Kurt, if you don't mind, Coach Sylvester."

"And what brings you here on this quiet Friday evening, might I ask?" she said in her slow, sardonic drawl. "Don't tell me you're attempting to crawl back into the closet and lost your way? I hear there's a janitor's office down the hall; that might suit you better. Were you trying to follow the white rabbit into Narnia?"

"What kind of a mixed metaphor _is _that?" he muttered, then said a little louder, "Can you just let me out of here?" He was a little ashamed at how plaintive his voice sounded, but the panic was returning, and he didn't want to scream like a little girl in front of Sue Sylvester. She already had enough things to torment him about.

"That would require a knowledge of your locker combination, gelfling," she said, tapping on the steel door. "You sure you want to give that up? It might result in some surprising… presents to be left at an unspecified future date."

"I don't think I have much of a choice, do I?"

"Not unless you want to ruin those suede shoes of yours, kiddo. I bet you're getting a little desperate. How long have you been in there, anyway?"

"I have no idea." He sighed in exasperation. "What time is it?"

"After seven."

"God," he moaned. "I'm going to be in so much trouble." He paused. "Wait – why are _you_ here on a Friday night?"

"I don't think you're in any position to ask that question." He heard a rattling noise, and the door to the locker shook, then swung open. He fell forward into open air and would have dropped to the floor if Sue hadn't been there to catch him. _It might have been preferable,_ he thought dizzily, as she lowered him to the linoleum.

"How -?"

Sue held up a large ring and jingled it with a smug expression. "It's a sad state of things when the first lady of Glee Club has been reduced to a sniveling, snot-covered wreck," she murmured, helping him stretch out his cramped legs. "You're lucky it was me who found you and not some more of those puckheads."

"Who do you think put me in there in the first place?" he snapped, wiping his face with one angry hand. "You didn't see a messenger bag anywhere, did you?"

As he peered up and down the dim hallway, he spotted an envelope in Sue's manicured hand. The name on the return address caught his attention: _Toby Grey_, in Denver, Colorado. "Where did you get that?" he said, and the letter vanished into the pocket of her velour track suit.

"Shouldn't you be following Mr. Tumnus back through the wardrobe?" she said testily.

"I need to find my bag." He got shakily to his knees, then to his feet, bracing himself against the bank of lockers. "Thank you," he added in belated appreciation. "I… didn't relish the thought of spending the night in there."

"It would have been the weekend," she pointed out, and he realized with an icy shock that she was right. _Sue Sylvester, my savior – how awful._

The messenger bag was found stuck in the boys' bathroom down the hall, protruding from one of the urinals like a tongue hanging out of a gaping mouth. Kurt extracted the soggy mass from its bacteria-infested prison and quickly found his defunct phone in the front pocket. Next he removed his sodden biology textbook and half-completed paper for American history, now completely unreadable. "There goes my weekend," he groaned.

"You have a way to get home, Ladyface?" Sue said from the door of the bathroom.

He gingerly picked up the disgusting bag and its soaking wet contents and regarded her with distrust. "That letter," he said. "You took that from Mr. Schuester's office."

"You have no proof of that," she said smoothly.

"I think I don't need any," he retorted, "if I call Principal Figgins and tell him you were breaking into other teachers' private stuff, I think that would be enough."

"I don't think it can be called breaking in when one has a key." But she pulled the letter out of her pocket. "All right, White Queen. You take this letter and head back to your palace, and we never speak of this again. Got that?"

He snatched the letter from her hand before she could change her mind. "Deal."

"Try not to fall into a rabbit hole," she shot back as she stalked away.


	3. Chapter 3

_(Author's note: Some of you expressed some confusion about the mention of Sam and Dean in the last chapter. There's a crossover SPN/Donutverse story in the works in which the Winchester brothers put Finn in touch with a local pro Dom. I decided to go ahead with writing Archer's Hand because flinchflower and I haven't had time to finish up that story, so it'll just be an AU backstory. For now, just take it as read that Finn, Puck and Kurt have a friendship with Sam and Dean, who were passing through Lima last week. Hope that helps. _

_And yes, it's *that* Dr. Carl Howell. After he appeared in leather in season 2, I couldn't resist. -amy)_

* * *

><p>The office was bare and unassuming, and Finn sat nervously in the upholstered waiting room, glancing around himself at the pictures on the walls, the worn but clean carpeting, the fresh vase of flowers on the receptionist's desk.<p>

"So what do you do all day?" he said to the girl behind the desk. She paused in her filing to regard him curiously.

"I manage the office for Dr. Howell and Mr. Lawton," she said. Finn waited for the rest, but that was it.

"Do you… do anything else?" he prompted, offering an understanding eyebrow. She paused again, tabbing through folders with a neatly trimmed thumb. She did not look at him.

"Yes," she said. After a moment, she asked, diffidently, "What gave it away?"

"I'm not even sure," he confessed. "I'm mostly acting on instinct. I don't really know what I'm doing."

"Yes, you do," she said, still not making eye contact. He considered her for a longer moment.

"Thanks," he said. "I've got to mostly trust myself. Sometimes I mess up." He didn't know why he was talking to this girl, except that she seemed to get something about why he was here, and he felt like she understood. "I'm Finn," he added.

"Angela," she said. She stacked the files neatly, two ways, and began to slot them into hanging folders in the cabinet against the wall. "It can be a lonely thing. I think if I didn't have anyone to talk to about it, I'd go a little bugnuts."

"You have someone?" he started to say, but then a man came through the office door next to Angela's desk. He was short, with dark hair, regular, handsome features and a mild expression. He wore green scrubs and a white coat.

"Hold my calls, would you, Angela?" he said in a quiet, musical voice. She nodded.

"Your schedule is clear, sir," she said.

"Thanks." He smiled at Finn, who stood and held out his hand. They shook. "I'm Carl Howell. Please, call me Carl."

"Finn Hudson," he said. "Um, thanks for agreeing to meet with me."

"It's not a problem," Carl said. "Come on into my office. We can talk privately there. You want something to drink? Angela can get you whatever you want."

"Um… a glass of water?" He looked at Angela uncertainly, but she just nodded and went to get it. He followed Carl into a less sterile room, with a big wooden desk, a couch and a table with two chairs. It looked as though Carl might actually do work here, as opposed to being a room just for show, as the desk was neatly stacked with paperwork and books.

Carl offered one chair to Finn and took the other himself. Angela was there in seconds with a glass of water for Finn, and what looked like iced tea for the doctor, and then departed, closing the door behind her.

"Angela… she's not just your receptionist, is she?" Finn asked. Carl smiled and sipped his iced tea.

"She works for me," he said. "We have an arrangement. Whatever else she chooses to disclose is her business."

"I'm just trying to understand how this all works," Finn said, glancing around. "I mean… you really are a doctor?"

"A dentist," Carl confirmed. "My regular practice is on the other side of town, but I'm here two days a week. Davis and I - Mr. Lawton, the lawyer who also works from this office – this is our other business. And it is business."

"It seems very… uh, discreet," he said. "And not what I would expect in Lima."

"Well, most major cities have people like me," he said. "The fact that Davis and I are here might be unusual. It's a lucky happenstance that we have other professions as well; they're successful enough to allow us to remain in a quiet town like Lima. Davis has family here, you see. And I – well, I like living in the city, but I'm willing to stay as long as we can make a living."

"You and Davis…?" Finn trailed off, not wanting to seem impolite, but Carl smoothly picked up the conversation.

"Merely business partners, and good friends." He set his tea down, nodding at Finn. "Now, you and your… boyfriends?"

"Um, yeah," Finn said, clutching his own hands together. It was still weird to talk about. "Puck… and Kurt."

"You have an arrangement?" Carl's expression was calm and nonjudgmental, but Finn felt nervous nonetheless.

"I guess," he said. "I mean, I love them, and that's… that's where it starts. But we're also… I mean, I'm…" He took a breath. "I don't really know how to talk about it. We say, I'm in charge, and they belong to me." He glanced away, but Carl just nodded.

"Are they collared?" Carl asked. Finn just shook his head, not understanding. "You might want to consider that. It can… simplify things, when there are clear boundaries."

"I don't know." Finn moved to the edge of his chair, feeling off center, not certain how to regain it in this context. "Collars. That wouldn't be, like, crossing a big line? A really big one." He sighed, sounding dreadful even to himself. "A big gay line."

"What you and your boys do sexually is your business," Carl said. "But the relationship between Dominant and submissive doesn't have to be a sexual one."

"I don't get that," Finn said. "I really – I like what we do." He laughed, shakily. "That's an understatement."

"You get a lot out of it," Carl prompted, and Finn nodded in earnest. Carl smiled. "That's the way it should be. You _should_ get something out of what you give them. Otherwise, what kind of a relationship would it be?"

"And they – they get something out of what I do?" Finn asked nervously. Now Carl was the one to laugh, easily, and leaned back in his chair.

"What do you think? Do you see a difference in them after you… do what you do?" Finn nodded. "Okay, then. Is it good for them? They're wanting it?" Finn nodded again, but hesitated, and Carl noticed. "What?"

"Sometimes, Puck… he's… he resists," Finn said. He looked at his feet and took a deep breath, saying the words he'd never said aloud to someone other than his boys. It felt like a risk, even though he knew on some level that Carl understood. "He wanted me… last month, when we started… he asked me to hit him. He said that it would help him, help him feel better. I told him I didn't think hitting him in the face was a good idea… but we found a way to do it without leaving a bunch of visible bruises."

"You've been spanking him," Carl said. It wasn't a question, but Finn nodded anyway. "This is something you came up with on your own? Nobody suggested it to you?"

"It just made sense," he shrugged, and Carl began to laugh. Finn watched him curiously as he shook his head, then sighed in amusement. "What did I do?"

"You," said Carl. He raised an eyebrow and drank more tea. "I'm just reminded of another young Dom, figuring things out, going on instinct. It's clear this is part of you, something you're meant to do." He tilted his handsome head and his lips twitched. Finn felt a little exposed under that calm regard. Finally, Carl added, "It's fine if he resists. Brats do that. The key is to get him back where he needs to be, under control, without getting angry. What do you do, when he… loses his way?"

Finn thought, a hand on his chin. "Um… well, I tell him… things. He seems to respond my voice, you know?" Carl nodded for him to go on. "Okay. I… I hold him, have him… sit on my lap? And there's, like, places where I can touch, his neck, up and down his back… he just calms down. Oh, and he likes it when I hold his arms down."

"Restraints," Carl murmured. "Anything else?"

"I… cover his mouth," Finn said. He was starting to sweat a little, more from the memories of times he'd done these things than anything else.

"You could try a gag," Carl said, and Finn gulped.

"And I… well. This is where it gets a little gay."

Carl's mouth tipped up in a gentle smile. He reached across the table and put a hand on Finn's. "It's okay to want that," he said. "You're not the only one in the world who likes men."

Finn felt the flush overtake his face and neck, but he didn't pull away from Carl's hand, and he didn't look away until Carl did. Finn blinked several times, trying to remember what he was going to say. "Um. Well, I guess he seems to really get a lot out of… serving. Like, on his knees."

This didn't faze Carl; he just nodded. "He's calmer afterward? More focused, more communicative?"

"Yeah. And I do other things. Tell him to, you know, hold still, and… not to touch. He really likes that."

"Hmm. No collar, you said? No restraints of any kind? Just from what you've told me, he could really benefit from that, Finn. You might think about it."

Finn worried at his lip with his teeth. "That seems like a whole different level of… this. Of being in charge of somebody."

"It could be. A collar can just be another restraint, or it can be… a commitment. Sort of like a wedding ring."

Finn's mind flashed to the image of three rings, and he stammered out, "But what about Kurt? He's… mine, too…" Then he thought of Kurt and Puck, the way they were together, and he paused. "And they kind of – they do stuff, the two of them. It's like… Puck wants to be in charge sometimes, and he can do that. With Kurt."

"Not with you, though?"

Finn couldn't help it; he laughed. "No. I don't… _no."_ He shook his head, his lip curling a little. "I can't imagine Puck doing _that_ to me. I think I would just get annoyed."

"Not with Puck, then. Perhaps with your other boy? Kurt? Could he –"

"Dude, I don't want that," Finn said, a little too loudly. He felt his head creaking with the effort to hold all these ideas inside. "I don't want to… give up control to… anyone." But just for a split second, in that moment, he saw himself, leaning over the bed, while Kurt used his hand to – he shuddered, and shifted in his seat.

"Well, that's your prerogative," Carl said easily, and Finn realized he was still holding Carl's hand, squeezing hard. He let it go and sat back, putting a little space between them. Carl didn't seem upset. He was smiling. Finn relaxed a fraction. "Just know – this is something all Doms go through at one time or another. My opinion is that any good Top knows how to submit, too; knows what his subs go through, what it feels like to give up control, and how hard that is to do sometimes. Even if a man knows it's good for himself, he can't always get there on his own." He nodded at Finn. "That's why he needs you."

"He… needs me," Finn said. He rubbed his eyes, feeling the beginning of a headache. "And… God. I need him so fucking much." It was like a sudden wave from the ocean, knocking him off balance, and he felt tears gathering in the back of his throat.

"Both of them?" Carl asked.

"In different ways," Finn agreed. "Puck – I've known him so long, it's always been us, two friends, close, like brothers – well. Now not so much like brothers." The image of Puck on his knees, begging for Finn to _just fuck him already,_ plastered itself on his memory like a billboard. His breathing sped up and he tried to put down the desire that came with it. Carl was watching him closely, and that didn't help any.

"And Kurt," Carl continued. "How is it with him? You need him, too?"

"In some ways, I need him more," Finn admitted. "He's more like – things are equal. We can figure things out together. Sometimes I can lean on him and he can lean on me and it's all right. And he – he's sweet, like a girl. I don't mean - it's not that he's not a guy. He's _definitely_ a guy. But I like that he's sweet." Finn's face was smiling all on its own, thinking of Kurt, their weeks together on the green couch, discovering everything they liked. "But he wants me, too, sometimes, to… to Top him?" He tried out the word, tasting it on his lips.

"He Tops Puck," Carl said. "And you Top him. He's your switch. He can be both, or sometimes neither."

"That's what Alex said," Finn agreed. "I like to do that with him. But I also – I like it when it's just… us. No rules, nobody's in charge. Just him and me."

"You don't have to do this all the time," Carl said. "Some people say they need it 24/7, but I don't think anybody wants to have to work _that_ hard. You need some down time, too. Even with Puck, you can sometimes just talk, be friends. Am I right?" He sought Finn's gaze again, held it, and Finn was caught under its grip. He thought had a better understanding of how Puck felt when he did that to him. It wasn't an easy feeling, to be trapped by someone's _eyes._

"But he needs you to be strong for him," Carl said, relentless. "Puck - he needs you not to give up on him, even when he's being the worst brat. Especially then. You can do that for him?" He looked at Finn, and demanded, quickly, "Answer me."

"Yes, sir," he whispered, and put a hand over his mouth. Carl chuckled.

"That's fine," he said, with a smile. It felt like a ray of sunshine. "That's a good boy."

Finn was shocked by the sudden flood of relief that went through him at those words, and he was rocked back by it, gasping. "Dude." Then he looked at Carl in realization. "Puck – he – when I say that to him, is that what he feels…?"

Carl nodded understanding. "He needs that approval from you, Finn. Don't be stingy. He's going to mess up, because he's a brat, and brats resist. But he won't always know when he's doing something _right._ He might think that everything he wants is bad."

"He's not bad," Finn protested. "Not at all. He's generous - so fucking _giving_ – I think he has no idea how much I admire him for that."

"I can almost guarantee you're right." Carl pushed his chair back and stood, and Finn stood with him. "Don't be afraid to tell him."

"He won't believe me," Finn said, shaking his head, but suddenly, Carl, regardless of being many inches shorter and slimmer than Finn, arrested him with one look. Finn had the feeling of being ten and caught with his hand in the cookie jar; he froze and hunched his shoulders.

"No, he won't," said Carl, "except in those moments when you've broken him down. Then you can put him back together again, and do it right. You can help him hear you."

"Yes – okay," he said, and took a step back, feeling the word _sir_ lurking just behind his lips, but unwilling to say it again. Carl smiled and let him go, and Finn could move again.

"I think we should meet again," Carl suggested casually. "Next time, bring your boys. We can talk tools."

"Tools?" Finn pictured Carl holding a cordless drill, and, considering he was a dentist, it wasn't a comforting image.

"I imagine you use your hand," Carl said, holding up his. "I do, too, sometimes. But you can be more effective with the right tool." He reached behind his stately wooden carved desk and slid out a silent drawer, and placed some items on top. There was a leather paddle, but Finn didn't know what the others were.

"Cane, flogger, paddle. These are my most common tools. Some of my clients like a belt or a leather tawse. I don't pull out the bullwhip unless I'm trying to be showy, but it's remarkably psychologically effective." Finn felt dizzy as he watched Carl touch each tool in turn. The cane was long and skinny; the flogger was made of strips of leather attached to a handle. The tawse was like a big paddle, with three strips at the end. The bullwhip was coiled and looked like the one Indiana Jones used. Finn eyed the belt Carl wore at his waist and wondered what that would sound like if he struck something with it. Probably loud. He flinched in his mind.

Carl stole a glance at Finn. "I'd be happy to show you any of them," he said quietly, "if you want to see how they work." After a moment in which Finn thought he might actually panic, he added, "I'm sure Angela would be more than willing to provide a surface on which you might try them."

"Oh," Finn said, blinking. He thought that was a smirk on Carl's patient face, but it was hard to be sure. "Not – today. But it would be helpful, to bring Kurt and Puck to… to talk, some more."

Carl smiled, friendly as could be. "Set up an appointment on your way out." He quickly made the tools disappear into his desk, and the office was just an ordinary office again – _if you didn't count the D-rings screwed into the base of the couch,_ he thought. He bet there were more things, other things he could scarcely fathom, that were hiding in this office. He shook Carl's hand, smiled, and took the hallway back to the waiting room, his mind reeling.

_Carl is dangerous. _He knew this was true, in the same way that a large predator in the jungle would be dangerous. But he wasn't afraid, exactly. It was – comforting, in a way, to know who he was, to know what to expect from him. And he was clearly experienced, and it was even more comforting to know he understood Finn, and approved of what he was doing.

Angela gave him a smile as he returned. "Are you –" Finn started, then stopped and tried again. "He gives you what you want, right? I mean, you're okay with – all this?"

Angela's pleasant face was split by an astonished smile. "Finn, that's incredibly sweet," she said, and laughed. "Yes, absolutely, I'm getting what I want. It's completely consensual. Please don't worry about me. I feel – incredibly fortunate to work here."

"Well, I guess that's good, then," Finn said. "I need to make another appointment."

"Let's take a look," she said, and paged through the calendar on her computer. "He's only here Tuesdays and Thursdays, but if you're willing to see Mr. Lawton, you could come Monday or Wednesday."

"Um," said Finn, thinking of Puck's lawyer. "I think we'd better stick with Carl for now."

She made a tsking noise as she typed in the appointment. "What?" he asked.

Her eyes were pensive. "He _never_ tells anybody to call him Carl," she explained. "Are you friends with the president or something?"

"Hardly," Finn laughed. "I'm in high school. We got referred here by some friends. Um. Mistress Tess?"

"You know Mistress _Tess?"_ she squeaked.

"Not really," Finn hastened to explain. "Just – some friends of hers."

Angela's expression did not stop being awed for the remainder of Finn's visit, and when he walked out the door, she just gave a mechanical "Have a nice day."

His phone rang just as he climbed into his car. "Finn," Puck said, not waiting for the polite greeting. "Kurt's still not home. I can't get him on the phone. Mercedes is here and she hasn't heard from him either. What the fuck should I do?"

"Hold tight," he said, feeling a stab of anxiety. "I'll swing by the school and see if he's there. What's the state of dinner?"

"Everything's ready. You just want me to wait?"

"For now. If he's not around school, I might ask you to go ahead without me. Can you amuse Mercedes for a half hour?"

"She's helping me with the dessert," he said, and Finn paused for a moment in shock. Puck never let anybody _help._ He must really be feeling desperate. He scrambled in his brain for something he could offer Puck, and he thought about what Carl had said: _don't be afraid to tell him._

"You're a good boy," he said, tentatively, and he heard Puck's breathing stop.

"Was… that okay?" he asked after a minute.

"Yeah," Puck whispered. "Yeah, that was… god. That was fucking awesome."

"I don't think I tell you enough," Finn said, feeling the tears threatening. "You're… you're _my_ boy. And you're so good."

"I'm not," Puck said, and he sounded a little wild.

"Are you contradicting me?" Finn replied.

"No sir," Puck hastened to say. "It's just that… no sir."

"That's good." Finn recalled some of the images that had sprung up from his discussion with Carl. He let his hand rest, just momentarily, on the zipper of his jeans. "You and me – we need to spend a little time alone tonight."

"Yes sir," Puck said, low and breathless, and Finn felt the thrill run from his head down to his cock and back again.

"It's going to be all right," Finn said.

"Okay," said Puck, and he sounded a hundred percent better. Finn smiled and relaxed, disconnecting the call. Maybe he really did know what he was doing. Maybe he just needed to trust that he knew, and it _would_ be all right.


	4. Chapter 4

"Thanks for meeting with us," Burt said, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the chair. Carole sat in the chair beside him, and they faced the desk together. He wished he could hold her hand. "We have about twenty minutes before we have to go pick up Sarah from Science Olympiad."

"It's no problem," said the social service agent. The sign on her desk said her name was Julia. She gave them a brisk smile. "I reviewed the file this morning. It's complicated."

Carole glanced at Burt. "We're really hoping we can help these kids. They mean a lot to us." She coughed. "Me. They mean a lot to me."

"And to me," Burt said.

The options were no different than they'd been days ago, when Carole had met with her friend. The difference now was that they'd actually reported something. "The first thing is to set up the home observation," Julia said. "The state has 30 days from the date of reporting to decide if the home is fit for children. If they decide it's not, they'll look for a suitable home in which to place them."

"If I wanted to provide a possible home for them," Carole said, her eyes intent, "what would I need to do?"

"If there's no suitable relative – that would need to be confirmed – then the state looks at friends of the family. You'd qualify, Carole, even though you and Ruth aren't on the best of terms, because you have history together, the kids stayed with you before, and so on." Julia's gaze was kind. "We really do want what's best for them, as quickly as possible. You'd have to go through a home check just like a foster parent would, but if it's for a friend of the family, the hoops are a little different."

"It sounds good so far," Burt said, leaning forward. "What I _don't_ want is for these kids to be removed from their home, only to be separated, or put in someone else's house. That would not be good for Sarah, especially. She needs to be with someone she can trust. These kids, they've depended on each other all their lives. Puck's practically Sarah's parent himself. I don't know what would happen if they were separated against their consent."

"We'll do everything we can do to keep that from happening." Julia passed a stack of papers over to Carole and she looked through them before handing them to Burt. "We'll let you know as soon as we get the home visit scheduled." She glanced across the desk at them. "In the meantime, I know you want to keep those kids at your house. I know that's a very real temptation. But unless their mother presents an immediate danger, you need to go by the rules."

"I'm mostly just looking the other way when Puck crashes at our house," Carole admitted. "But with Sarah, it's harder. She doesn't have her own transportation. I've been taking her to school."

"Her mother could charge you with kidnapping," Julia said, and sighed at Burt's outraged noise. "I know. But she's still their legal guardian. We'll do all we can to push this through. Hang in there, okay? Wait for me to call you."

In the lobby, Burt grabbed Carole's hand and pulled her into the dim hallway. Before she could react, he kissed her, then released her hand before she could even make a noise. "Carole," he said, low and desperate. "Those kids. God. I've been having nightmares about Sarah waking up alone in the house…"

"I know," Carole said. She put a hand on his chest, and Burt gathered his hand to him, pressing it into his heart. "I know. I just can't help but think… what if we're moving too fast here?"

"Too fast?" he protested, clutching at her shoulder and pulling her into him. She leaned her forehead on his chest with a nervous laugh.

"Too fast for the kids, Burt. I get the idea they're in for the long haul, but – they're _sixteen._ What if one of them changes his mind? What if they break up? Chances are pretty good of this happening. If one of us has legal custody of Sarah and Puck, and they start hating each other's guts – "

"Okay, yes, I got it," said Burt, with a sigh. "You want to slow down?"

"No," Carole whispered, rolling her head back and forth on his soft shirt front. "I want – I want something entirely different."

"Oh." Burt's voice was gentle now, hopeful. "You want to tell me what you _do_ want, then?"

She sighed. "I think… we need to put what _we_ want on hold until these kids have things figured out." She moved backward a step, then one more, and regarded him from the safety of distance.

"That's really what you want?"

"I'm trying to be the _grownup_ here," she replied, through gritted teeth, and he laughed, relaxing.

"Okay. Okay. I can help with that." He tipped his head, smiling now. "I think just knowing that you want… other things… is enough for now."

Carole gave a very unladylike snort. "It's not enough for _me."_ She reached for his hand, and he squeezed it. "But I can live with disappointment. In the meantime… where's Sarah going to stay?"

"I think we need to go with what Julia said," Burt said. "It's the worst feeling in the world to think about sending her back to Ruth, but I'd feel so much worse if I knew I could have been doing something to help, and got tripped up on a technicality. It's just like I was telling Puck: if he wants to live at _your_ house, long-term, he's got to keep this business about being Finn's… boyfriend… a secret. There's no way social services would place them together if they knew what they were getting up to in private." He gripped his forehead. "God. It still blows my mind."

"I wonder if –" Carole began, but then paused and checked her phone, which was buzzing. Her eyes widened. "Kurt's not home yet, and Finn says Puck can't reach him on his phone. Did you get a call from him?"

"No," Burt said, moving toward the door. He didn't let go of Carole's hand until they reached the parking lot and had to move to their respective cars. Letting go felt like the hardest thing in the world.

"I'm still holding on," she said, looking up at him from her driver's seat, and he smiled, surprised and pleased.

"Okay," he said, his voice rough. "Still holding on. Thank you."

* * *

><p>"Seriously, Puck," Mercedes said, giving him the eye as he peered over her shoulder for the fourth time. "I got this. I can make custard in my sleep. It's not going to burn."<p>

"Just – watch the temperature," he said, darting a hand over her and turning down the stove a tiny smidge. "Stupid fucking electric stove."

"Finn's looking for him," she said quietly. "You can't do anything more right now. So come on, tell me something."

"Tell you what?" he said, with an exasperated sigh. He ran a hand over his mohawk.

"Anything. Whatever'll take your mind off Kurt."

"Nothing will take my mind of Kurt," Puck said, and the heat in his voice made Mercedes bust a gut laughing. He felt a little put out until he remembered how much she loved Kurt, too.

"Tell me about this. The cooking." She waved her hand in the air, not stopping stirring with her other hand. "What made you start?"

"My brother, Timothy. He was in charge of feeding us, and he had no fucking imagination at all. We ate a lot of boxed macaroni and ramen before I figured out how to make a few staple dinners." He checked to make sure the foil was secure over the pasta alfredo in the warm oven, then grabbed a knife and began trimming the tips off the artichokes. "After that, it was just fun. I thought of stuff, and made it, and it mostly tasted good."

"Did you ever make anything that turned out, like, a disaster?"

Puck thought about this. "Oh, yes. The first couple times I made rolls – they were like little rocks."

She grinned at him. "And now they're fluffy and light as air?"

"Something like that."

Mercedes bent over the custard and smelled it. "Mmmm. This is gooood."

He joined her at the stove and put his nose above the pan. "Needs a little spice," he muttered, fumbling in the cabinet. "Don't tell me Kurt doesn't have any cardamom."

"Hey, you know what?" Mercedes put a hand on her hip and regarded him with disappointment. "You and me, we never did our ballad assignment. We should do that. You know, now that we're talking like civilized human beings and all."

Puck's mind took the long, winding road back to the very beginning of things with Kurt and Finn, to the auditorium in which Finn sang his ballad to Puck, while Kurt accompanied him on the piano, securely believing he was delivering his love into the arms of another boy. Puck didn't realize what was happening until Mercedes took him by both shoulders and pushed him gently into a chair, then pressed a tissue into his hand.

"Fuck," he said, through his absurd tears. "You don't need to see this."

"It's okay," she said, and her voice was kind. "You're Kurt's boy, and I'm his best friend. We get some kind of rights to see each other's weak spots." She ghosted a hand over his shoulder, and he closed his eyes just for a moment, letting her be the support he needed.

"What do you mean, I'm his boy?" he said in a small voice.

"You know, his boyfriend. Right?" Her eyebrow was a question mark. "You _are _his boyfriend?"

"Well, yeah," he said, and wiped his eyes. "Totally." He was liking her just fine, more and more all the time, but Puck wasn't at all ready to have a conversation with Mercedes that involved the words _own_ and _submit_ and _spank._

"Sorry to push your buttons," she said. "The ballad thing. That meant something?"

"Finn sang me _I'll Stand By You,_ in the auditorium," he said. "It was… well, pretty fucking awesome. That was the first day I realized how I felt about Kurt."

She looked like she was trying to trace the thread of the explanation, but had lost it along the way. "Sorry? How did Finn singing help you realize how felt about Kurt?"

"Kurt played the piano," he began, but then he heard the downstairs door open and shut quietly, and he was standing before he thought about it and hurried down the half-flight of stairs to Kurt's basement room.

Kurt was there, carrying a sopping wet messenger bag and with a spectacular bruise on his temple, but otherwise looking none the worse for wear. It was his expression that made Puck worry. He looked completely pissed. On top of that, he was clearly exhausted.

"Baby," he said, reaching for Kurt before he thought about the consequences. Mercedes made a squeaky noise of surprise, and Kurt drew back from his touch. Puck paused, glancing at Mercedes, who shook her head and gestured for him to continue.

"Please, don't mind me," she said. "It was just… I didn't expect. That." Kurt sighed, and she glared at him. "You didn't tell me he was _sweet."_

"Yes, I did," Kurt said, aggravated.

She started forward, reaching. "What happened to your head?" But Kurt drew back further, turning his head, and she stopped where she was.

Puck looked back at Kurt, then at Mercedes again. "Would you – um. The custard?"

"Okay," she said, retreating to the stairs. "I'll be back in five minutes. With some ice for that. It looks like it's going to be a nasty one." She hesitated. "Karofsky?"

"Yeah," Kurt said. "And Azimio."

She was gone up the stairs before Puck realized what she meant. "They hurt you?" he exclaimed, and this time when Kurt tried to duck away, Puck grabbed him and wrestled his head to reveal the bruise.

"Ow," Kurt objected, batting his hand away when he tried to touch the abraded edges. "Leave it alone. I've got ointment."

"I remember, dude," Puck said, anger overriding the panic and fear. "You don't get to avoid this one. I'm still badass enough to defend you from actual fucking harm."

"I know you are, sweetheart," Kurt said, putting an appeasing hand on his chest. "But it's just going to make things worse. Trust me; I've been bullied all my life. I've tried everything to get guys like them to stop, and the best thing to do is just _leave them alone."_

The anger erupted. "Forget that!" Puck shouted. "They made a fucking hole in your scalp. I'm not going to let them get away with it." This time Kurt let him take him in his arms, and he squeezed the breath out of him until Kurt protested.

"You weren't answering your phone," Puck said, burying his face in Kurt's hair. He could hear the music in his head, Asus2, A, D, repeating forever.

"That's because it was in the urinal with the rest of the contents of my bag," Kurt said, his voice shaking, "including the essay I was supposed to finish this weekend." Puck couldn't tell if it the shaking was from pain or anger, but he was betting on the latter.

"What happened to you, baby?" he whispered, but Kurt just sighed and held Puck tighter. Puck gave up –_ for now –_ and kissed him, would have gone on kissing him over every inch of his battered face, if Kurt hadn't stopped him.

"Mercedes," he reminded him.

"Alfredo," Puck added, and Kurt brightened a little.

"Mushrooms?" he asked hopefully.

"Definitely." He slipped an arm around Kurt and they went upstairs to find Mercedes dishing the custard into cups and setting them into a pan of water in the oven. Puck nodded in approval. "You weren't kidding about knowing how to make custard."

"I don't kid about dessert," Mercedes said, with deadly seriousness, and Puck thought he knew her well enough now to laugh. "I wasn't sure if I should dust with nutmeg, though, or more of that cardamom?"

"How about both?" Puck said, and they each took a box of spice and gave a shake over each cup.

Kurt regarded them with what looked like mock suspicion. "I'm really not sure how I feel about the two of you being so chummy. Why do I think I'm in for some serious trouble if you two are in cahoots?"

"Did he just say _cahoots?"_ Puck shot a glance at Mercedes, who was smirking. He slipped his phone out of his pocket and pressed the speed dial for Finn.

"And _chummy,_" she said, hefting a bag of ice and raising it to Kurt's head. He sat at the kitchen island and winced at the pressure. "I think we've got to work on your vocabulary. How'd you get that gouge, anyway? It doesn't look good."

"Locker hook," he muttered, and she pulled away to stare at him. "Just leave it alone, will you?"

"A fucking _locker hook?"_ Puck yelled, and Finn's voice came from his phone, "What the hell?"

Puck put the phone to his ear, fuming. "Two asshole puckheads apparently shoved _our boyfriend_ into a locker. And he's not talking about it, at least not to _me_." He thrust the phone at Kurt. "Maybe you'll tell _him."_

Kurt took the phone with equal amounts of disdain and dread. "Finn," he started, but then bit his lip as Finn's voice threaded through the phone. He didn't sound angry, from what Puck could hear; just really, really _direct._ "They found me… after you guys left school. Yeah. Azimio and Karofsky – um." He checked the clock. "A couple hours."

Puck made a wordless noise of protest, but Mercedes tugged him away from Kurt, who was looking pale. "He doesn't want to tell," she whispered.

"Why?" Puck hissed back, glancing helplessly over at Kurt. "I just want to help him – why won't he talk to me?"_  
><em>

"He'd rather not say anything than have to admit he got beat up by those guys again. He's ashamed."

Puck shook his head. "It's not his fault. He couldn't have stopped them – they're a zillion times bigger, and there's t-_two_ of them –" He put a hand to his mouth as he felt himself starting to come apart. _Just wait. Finn will be home soon, and you can –_

But Mercedes already had him around the corner, out of view of Kurt, and she was fucking _hugging _him, and he was losing it, big sobs and everything, and he didn't remember ever feeling quite so idiotic and quite so cared for at the same time.

"He's safe now, he's all right," she said, and he realized she was crying too. Somehow that made him feel a little better, helped him pull himself out of the morass of fear and tears.

"I can't believe I ever –" he started, but she rolled her eyes and gave him a little shake.

"Oh, no, we're not going there. This is about Kurt, remember? You can't let your own shame get in the way of that. What can you do for _him,_ right now?"

Puck thought wildly, sniffling. "I – I can feed him dinner. There's a bottle of wine chilling in the fridge. Um – I can – " He cut that thought off and averted his eyes, and Mercedes smothered a laugh.

"That last one, whatever it was, had better wait until I go home, right?" she said, but her tone was amused, not disgusted. He relaxed a fraction.

"I just don't get how Kurt can be so fucking angry about what my mom is doing to Sarah and me, and be so… " He groped for the right word. "I don't know, _passive_ about this? Why is he giving in to them?"

"Shame makes you do stuff," she said, a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Kurt's no stranger to shame. As much as he talks big and acts brave, he's just scared." She smiled at Puck, and he felt oddly comforted by that. "Kind of like you, I guess."

"Yeah," he said, and nodded. "I guess." He indicated the kitchen. "I'm going to get the alfredo."

"Let me help?" she said, and he nodded again, realizing, _she's scared for him, too. _

Kurt's eyes were red when they came back in the kitchen, and he handed the phone back to Puck with a silent, wan smile. "I guess I deserved that."

"Kurt," he said, trying to stay calm, "you didn't deserve _anything, _other than to be safe in your own fucking school." The tendrils of self-recrimination were beating at him, but he fended them off and focused on Kurt. "I – well, I just –" He grabbed Kurt. "I just love you, okay?"

"Okay," Kurt said, accepting the hug meekly.

"Mushrooms?" Puck asked, and he felt Kurt's chuckle.

"Yes." He pulled away and turned to help Mercedes, who was pointedly not watching their exchange, get the alfredo out of the oven. "God, what smells amazing?"

"The cardamom custard," Puck said. He opened the pot of boiling water, waiting on the stove, and dropped the artichokes in. "Finn'd better be home soon, or he's going to have to deal with cold artichokes."

"He said he was on his way. Sarah's going with Dad and Carole tonight."

"Yeah," Mercedes asked curiously, sliding into the chair across from Kurt. "What's up with that, anyway? Finn's mom and your dad – are they, like, an item?"

"Something like that," Kurt said, sighing. "Finn thinks it's the best thing ever, but I'm not sure. It's a little weird."

"All right, Mr. Pot, stop talking about Mrs. Kettle." Mercedes glanced at Puck as he gave her a big spoonful of noodles. "What do _you_ think?"

"Two awesome parents wanting to get it on? I'm for it," Puck said, grinning at Kurt's shudder. "Come on, man. We're doing all _kinds_ of shit. Don't they get to do it, too?"

Mercedes coughed. "Uh, TMI, Puckerman."

"I'll leave it to your imagination." Puck set down the alfredo dish as he heard the door slam. "It's Finn – I'm going to just check in with him..." The tension spiraled up inside him as he hurried down the stairs again.

Suddenly he was caught in a rock-hard embrace, Finn's body crushing him up against the wall, clutching at his back, his mouth wet and ruthless against his. Puck stifled his moan, and responded with equal need and fervor.

"Is he okay?" Finn whispered into Puck's ear, and the fear was palpable.

"Yeah, he's okay," Puck said, and caught his breath when Finn took his earlobe between his teeth and bit down, hard. "_God,_ Finn, what –"

"Just – let me, okay? I need – I need –" Finn's frustration drove Puck to grab his ass and grind their hips together. He could feel _exactly_ what Finn needed, right through his jeans.

"Yeah, of course," Puck said, tugging Finn toward Kurt's room, undoing Finn's zipper on the way and shutting the door behind them with one kick of his foot. Finn groaned and pushed Puck's hand out of the way, shoving his jeans and shorts down in a desperate, violent motion, and Puck found himself trapped between Kurt's bed and Finn's red, swollen cock, right in his face.

"Take it," Finn urged, and Puck opened his mouth, and Finn filled it. He was immediately lost in the sensations, the smell and taste and texture of Finn, the sound of him declaring hoarsely, "You're _mine."_ Nothing else had ever felt quite so good, so right, as those words in his ears. He opened himself up to Finn, as wide as he could go, his heart and his mouth and his whole self, and let him take what he needed.

Finn's hands went right to Puck's head and took control over the thrusting, and Puck thanked every lesson Alex had ever given him on cocksucking. Finn wasn't waiting for him to be ready; he was _definitely_ in charge, and he was _definitely_ not taking no for an answer. Not that Puck would have said no. God, not in a million years.

"I need this so much," Finn growled, curling his body around Puck's, his stomach tensing. "I need you, need to fuck you, need to have you – every part of you."

_Yours,_ Puck could only think fervently, and hope Finn could hear him somehow. He couldn't even get his hands up to touch Finn, wedged against the bed as he was. Finn's own hands were busy, getting scant handfuls of Puck's short hair, but as his knees brushed Puck's hard cock Puck felt himself buck automatically up against the pressure.

"Yeah, you come, too," Finn gasped, and Puck felt the wave of unbelievable sensation ripple through him, right to his core, and he was only able to make desperate, disbelieving noises as he shot his load into his jeans. Puck swallowed convulsively around the flood of acrid fluid in his mouth, but he didn't choke, and it was a mark of pride that he didn't miss a drop.

Finn dropped his shuddering body on top of Puck's, flattening him against the side of the bed, and slithered down to crouch on the floor in front of him. He took Puck's face in his hands and kissed him, and Puck could feel the hot tears on his cheeks.

"I was so scared," Finn whispered. "God, so scared."

"I know," Puck said, stroking the back of his neck. "Me, too."

"Tell me this is okay," he said, and Puck pulled back far enough to look at him in astonishment.

"_Yeah,_ this is okay!" He probed Finn's face for understanding. "I… I _want_ you to take it from me. I want that." He felt himself relax, settle into himself, and he swallowed on his raw throat. "It's just what I need. From you, man."

Finn shook his head in disbelief. "I just have a hard time accepting it sometimes. It still seems impossible – wanting this, and I had _no idea,_ dude, it was _totally _not in my consciousness, okay? And now – I mean, I had a conversation with a complete stranger today about… _floggers,_ and _collars,_ and…" He closed his eyes and laughed. "It should have been crazy, but..."

"It's just right," Puck said softly, the word _collar_ ringing in his ear like a bell. He felt tingly all over, and he took a shaky breath. "Dinner's waiting upstairs. The artichokes should be about done."

By the time they cleaned up and made it up the stairs, Mercedes was draining the artichokes and had the chilled aioli out in little dishes for dipping. "You were right," Kurt said with his mouth full. "The aioli was much better than butter."

"God," Finn said in consternation, sinking into the chair next to Kurt and gingerly touching the abrasion above his ear. Then he glanced at Mercedes, and said, in a very not-Finn voice, "Would you – please tell me the whole story? All of it?"

Puck silently dished Finn a plate while Kurt talked. When he was done, Finn was hovering about two inches from Kurt, clutching his hand so hard it must have hurt. "Mercedes, would you help me get the custard out of the oven?" Puck found himself asking, and when Finn shot him a grateful glance, he felt a burst of pride settle over him, like a firework.

She looked curiously at Puck as he serenely slid his hands into oven mitts. "You're looking… better," she said.

"Finn took care of it," he said. "Now I'm trying to give them some time to do… something similar."

"Huh. And you're not jealous at all?" She carefully set the custards on a wooden tray, watching him as he spooned coconut cream over the top of each bowl.

"No," he said. "I'm not, at all. I – I like it, that they love each other. When they're together, it's… it's _better._ Easier, somehow. I guess because everybody's getting what they need. When Finn's happy, we're all happy."

"And what about Kurt? Is he getting what he needs?" She crossed her arms. "I'm surprised, Puck, at how good this whole business is, but my first thought is for Kurt. Is he happy?"

"I think so." Puck paused, staring down at the custard. "I don't know. I mean, _how_ can I really know if it's good for him, or not? Sometimes I like things, want things, that aren't good for me. Like… custard. It's made of eggs and milk – good for you, kind of, but sugar – bad for you. So is it good, or bad?" He sighed. "Fuck. I don't know."

She touched his arm. "I didn't ask if you were good for him. That's impossible to know. I asked if he was happy. You should know the answer to that."

Puck thought of Kurt, stretched out like a cat on the chair in their attic room, sated and smiling. He thought of him saying _this is just what I need from you._ He thought of his text that said _God, Noah, I can't think of anything I want more,_ and he smiled. "Yeah," he said. "I think he's happy."

"Okay, then," Mercedes said. "That's enough for me. Come on, let's get this custard out there. You'd better go first – I'm not sure what I'll be interrupting."


	5. Chapter 5

"Did you know Mr. Schue's best friend lives in Denver?" Kurt said to Mercedes as they cleared the table. Finn was watching Puck make tequila sunrises and making comments on the amount of alcohol that was or was not going into each glass.

"I heard something about him," Mercedes nodded. "What's his name? Terrance?"

"Toby," Kurt said.

"Yeah, that's right. He's a dance teacher at some performing arts high school. I guess he's an actor, too. Mr. Schue said he did A Chorus Line last month."

Kurt felt a bitter twinge of jealousy. "Why do you know these things? Mr. Schue never talks to me."

Mercedes shrugged. "I don't think it's personal, Kurt. Tina and I were just having lunch with him when –"

"You had _lunch_ with Mr. Schue?" Kurt interrupted.

"Uh… yes?" She looked a little sheepish. "I would have invited you if I thought you cared. I didn't think you liked him much."

"It's more that I don't think he likes _me_ much," he admitted. "Anyway… I think maybe Toby and Mr. Schue might be more than friends."

Mercedes' brow squinched together, like she was smelling something bad. "Mr. Schue? No way. He's totally married and stuff."

"What makes you think so?" Finn asked, leaning over the back of his chair.

Kurt felt in his pocket for the letter, and, after a brief hesitation, he brought it out. "When Coach Sylvester… helped me out of the locker, she had this. It's got Toby's return address."

"What's it say?" Puck wanted to know.

He glared at Puck. "I didn't read it. But she all but admitted she'd taken it from Mr. Schue's office – he's out of town visiting Toby this weekend."

Mercedes sat down slowly at the cleared table. She looked skeptical. "So? I'd visit my best friend if he were out of town. That doesn't mean I'm boffing him."

"You're definitely not boffing me," Kurt agreed. "But… Sue insinuated there was something incriminating in this letter. She didn't care that I got it, so that means she'd already read it." He considered the envelope, then reluctantly tucked it back into his pocket. "I think I'm going to give it to Brad."

"Brad? Is he Mr. Schue's friend too?" Mercedes was nonplussed.

"Apparently, and Toby's."

"And you probably think Brad's doing Mr. Schue, too," Puck said, setting a drink in front of each of them. Kurt burst out laughing.

"Oh, god," he said, when he could talk again. "That… is an image I would really rather not have." He took a sip of the drink and beamed an approving smile at Puck. "Delicious, sweetheart."

"Glad to hear it, baby," Puck smirked. Mercedes proved her mettle by not snorting her drink all over the table, but it was a close thing.

"You guys are disgustingly cute," she said, directing her comment at Finn, which Kurt found amusing, starting him laughing all over again. "Seriously. I guess it's just as well you aren't coming out at school. There would be a lot of puking."

"Who says we're not coming out?" Finn said. He gestured with his drink, which was half gone already. "This hiding business… it doesn't sit well with me. We're just trying to take it slow. It's still new, and all, but..." He put a casual hand on Kurt's shoulder.

"No," Mercedes said, softly. "No, I can tell, it's important. You guys. This whole thing." She sighed. "I'm happy for all of you."

"Thank you," Kurt said, reaching for her hand. She took it, squeezed it, and put it back on Finn's arm.

"Dude," Puck said, gulping his drink. "I think that's enough ladychat. How about some video games?"

Kurt groaned. "Noah… I definitely haven't had enough alcohol for that yet."

"Fine. _You_ can watch. _I_ plan to blow things up." He leaned down and tenderly kissed his cheek behind the abrasion, and Kurt smiled despite himself.

"You better watch yourself, Kurt," Mercedes declared, rising from her chair and following Puck downstairs. "I might just steal your boyfriend. He's way too cool."

"Preach," came Puck's voice from the basement.

Kurt watched Finn's eyes follow them, but his attention was elsewhere. "What's on your mind?" Kurt asked, stroking the hairs on Finn's forearm.

"A lot of stuff," he said. "I have to tell you about Carl. He wants to meet with us on Tuesday, and talk more about… what we do." His eyes were solemn as he leaned in to kiss Kurt. "I think I have a lot to learn."

"I'll go with you," Kurt said. "I'm sure Noah will, too." He remembered the conversation they'd had that morning, and he bit his lip. "We – Noah and I… things are really, um, getting intense between us."

"I know," Finn said, and his lips spread in a smile. "I was there when he was texting you this morning. _Baby."_

"Yeah," Kurt said, feeling the color rise in his cheeks. "There was… well. Something else. He kind of… wants to do stuff to me. Spanking stuff."

"Really?" This seemed to surprise Finn, but he didn't look perturbed. "Huh. I'd be interested in watching that."

Kurt's breath was suddenly not providing enough oxygen for his body, and he had to pick up the pace to keep up with the dizzy feelings washing over him. "Um. That would be really… yeah. Wow. I think I like that idea."

"Mmmm," Finn said, gazing down on Kurt, his eyes dark and full of promise. Kurt felt like a cup of custard sitting before Finn's spoon. He swallowed, and let out a whimper as Finn's hand came up to caress his neck. "Yeah. We'll have to set that up. Maybe this weekend."

"'kay," Kurt whispered, letting his eyes flutter closed, allowing himself to watch the movie of his fantasies behind his closed lids for just a few moments. "Finn?"

"Yes, baby," he said, low and sweet.

"You really want to come out at school?"

"Yeah, I do." His hand tightened on Kurt's neck. "About some things. Other things we should probably keep private."

_Definitely,_ he thought fervently. "My dad said Noah should keep it a secret for now. Until things are settled with his mom and Sarah. Or else they could use it to keep us apart."

"Oh." Finn paused, and sighed unhappily. "Yeah, that kind of makes awful sense. I guess we should."

"I don't feel worried about telling our friends," Kurt went on, "but I think we need to be… careful." He felt a prickle of unease, remembering what Karofsky had said. "I think maybe we need to be _more_ careful than we've been."

Finn slid his hand down Kurt's side, and Kurt winced as he brushed against bruises he hadn't realized he had. "It's just as well we have that attic room, then. Because if I can't be out with you at school… I'm going to need to grab every second I can to be with you there."

"Okay," Kurt said, gasping, and Finn's mouth was on his, hard and insistent. He was pretty sure it wasn't just the alcohol making him feel this way. _Finn just does things to me,_ he thought, as his big hand found Kurt's inner thigh and traced a path between his legs. _It's the most amazing feeling._

"Dudes," he heard from the doorway, and his eyes flew open again to see Puck watching them, grinning. "You coming downstairs? Maybe you need a little time alone?"

"I think we need a little time with_ you,_" Finn said, grinning back, and Puck's eyes twinkled at Kurt. "Later. C'mon, baby. I want to see Mercedes cream Puck in Call of Duty: Black Ops."

"I think that sounds like a challenge," Puck said. "Wanna stake something on that?"

Finn ran a hand down Puck's back as he passed him in the doorway, and gave his ass a little pat. "I don't think you have anything worth betting that I don't already own."

"Good point," Puck said, cheerfully. "Oh, well."

* * *

><p>Kurt stumbled, bleary-eyed and squinting, into the light of ten o'clock, wondering what had happened last night after he'd drank his third tequila sunrise. He was pretty sure it had involved a lot of swearing and pressing buttons on the video game controller.<p>

He knew Mercedes had gone home late last night, Finn was still asleep, and Puck hadn't been in bed when he'd woken up, though his customary spot at their feet had still been warm, so he hadn't been gone too long. He figured he'd find Puck downstairs, perhaps making breakfast, but there was no Puck and no note, though the dishes had been washed and the sitting room downstairs was tidy. He wondered if Puck really_ liked_ cleaning up after them as much as he seemed to, or if it was just how he was, after all these years of taking care of the house when his mother wasn't around.

Thoughts of Puck's Ma made Kurt scowl and slam the refrigerator door as he poured himself a glass of milk. They hadn't seen her in a little while, it was true, but knowing that the possibility was still there that she could traipse into their life and take everything away was frightening. She knew the truth about the three of them – well, most of it, anyway.

Kurt shook his head ruefully, cutting into the cantaloupe with Puck's wicked chef knife. Just a few months ago, Kurt had come out as gay, after a lifetime of knowing the truth about himself. Now, he apparently had not one, but _two_ other secrets he had to decide if he was willing to divulge about his sexuality – both of which were even more threatening and confusing to the world at large than being gay. _What am I supposed to do with that?_

He glanced at the kitchen island, then paused. Toby's letter to Mr. Schue was lying there, innocently folded, propped against a plate. On the plate was a perfectly golden omelette, bulging with mushrooms and melted, crispy tendrils of cheese. Kurt closed his eyes and sighed. He could read the story as easily as he could have if Puck had written him a note. _Sorry,_ said the omelette, _I couldn't resist._

"Noah," he groaned. "What am I going to _do_ with you?" But the answer was pretty clear. He searched the house, but it was a halfhearted look; Puck wasn't anywhere to be found. Instead he got out his phone and sent a text.

_10:21 am – Noah, I found the letter, and your apology omelette. You'd better get home soon. Finn and I need to have words with you._

He wondered, not for the first time, why it seemed to work so well to spank Puck when he was misbehaving, when Puck clearly liked it so much. It would be rational to think that Puck did things wrong on purpose, just to get spanked. Perhaps that was true, but he didn't think it was really that clear cut, because Puck _wanted_ to be good. He really did; Kurt could see it in his eyes, when he offered him praise, and in all the things he did for Sarah, and Finn, and everybody.

And there was a deeper question under that, of course, about why Kurt himself wanted it, but he wasn't willing to look too closely at that at the moment. He set the letter aside and put the omelette in the microwave, pressing the Start button just as his dad came trotting down the stairs.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Burt grinned, ruffling Kurt's hair. "You feeling okay? This is later than you usually wake up on Saturday."

"Um," Kurt said. "Yeah. We were just up late." He didn't think his dad would appreciate knowing about the tequila. In fact, he was absolutely sure he would get into big trouble if his dad found out. The reasonable question sprang up in his mind: _So why had he done it, then?_ He pondered this for a little too long while his dad watched him, and finally cleared his throat.

"You okay, Kurt?"

Kurt looked up. "Oh – yes. Sorry. Just thinking. Lots of thinking going on lately." He sighed and took the omelette out of the microwave. "You want half of this?"

"Mmmm. Sure." His dad leaned in to smell the egg concoction, then frowned. "Kurt - what happened to your head?"

Kurt winced as his dad's fingers found his abraded skin. "I – banged it into a coathook at school." _Not a lie,_ he thought defiantly, but it was a weak justification even for him.

Burt regarded him silently, but didn't press. He seldom did. Kurt wondered, fleetingly, if he wished his dad _would._ And what would Kurt do if he did? Would he resist? Or would he submit, tell the truth, and live with the consequences? What kind of… consequences would there be? He shook his head again, to clear it of the confusing questions.

"You three have plans today?" Burt's question was casual, and Kurt had to smile at the simple acceptance his dad had shown Finn and Puck. Even them sharing a bed was not fazing him too badly, though they were careful not to be too demonstrative around him.

"I think Finn and Puck have plans, but I'm not sure what they're doing… Puck went off somewhere this morning." He sliced the melon and offered his dad a wedge; Burt nodded thanks and took a bite from it. "I was thinking about taking a piano lesson."

"Piano lesson?" Burt echoed, laughing. "I thought you gave that up?"

"I did, but I've been missing it," Kurt said. "The accompanist in Glee, Brad, he offered me a lesson. He's friends with Mr. Schue." He hesitated, and decided not to mention Brad's unusual relationship configuration until he made sure it was okay to talk about it. He felt guilty enough already that Mr. Schue's letter had been read, now by at least two people, and lying to his dad on top of that; he didn't need to compound the betrayal.

"Well, that was nice of him. What time do you think you'll go?"

"I thought I'd call and find out if this weekend works for him. I – also have a big paper to work on."

Burt gazed at him over the slice of melon. "Kurt… you didn't wait until the last minute for this, did you?"

"No! I had it half done, but my bag got wet, so I have to start over." _Also not a lie,_ he thought, but he ducked his head into the fridge so his dad wouldn't see the look on his face. "I thought I'd corner Sarah and we can work on our homework together. What did you guys do last night?"

"Movies," he said, somewhat grimly. "I never thought I'd have to sit through _another_ generation of stupid cartoons. She's a smart kid, but she likes dumb movies. _Fantastic Mr. Fox_. Should have been called _Mediocre Mr. Fox, _if you ask me."

"That's a great book," Kurt said, grinning.

"I know!" Burt looked wounded. "I remember reading it to you! And they cut all the soul out of it, made it too fast, too slick. Whatever happened to a nice quiet story?"

"Tell me about the time when you walked 20 miles to the schoolhouse, dad," Kurt said, leaning on his elbows. "Uphill and barefoot, both ways. In the snow."

"All right, all right, I'm feeling old enough these days," Burt grumbled, giving Kurt's arm a shove.

Kurt played with a smile. "I don't know… I think you've been acting mighty spry lately, Grandpa. How are things going with you and Carole?"

"We are _not_ having that conversation, Kurt," Burt said firmly, but Kurt put a placating hand on his dad's arm.

"Dad. I just spent last weekend baring my soul to you about my love life. You know way more than you need to know about what's going on with me. I think I deserve a little reciprocal sharing." He paused. "A _little."_

Burt's face was the color of the tomatoes in Puck's omelette, but he was smiling. "Well, if you must know, we've decided to slow things down a little." He glanced up at Kurt, and his smile became a smirk. "A _little."_

"That's very responsible of you, dad," he said, musing on his own relationship progress over the past five weeks. He'd gone from never-been-kissed to everything-and-then-some. At least, with a start, he _thought_ it was everything. _Was there more stuff out there he'd never thought of? God. _"I really like Carole."

"Yeah," Burt said. "Me, too."

Kurt ate the last of his melon and pushed the rind around with his fork. "It's not – too weird, is it? That I'm dating Finn, and you're dating Carole?"

Burt laughed. "Honestly, Kurt? In the whole _universe_ of weird that is this situation? That is one of the least weird things. I'm fine with it." He gripped Kurt's hand briefly, then pushed his chair out. "I'm going to head in to the garage for a little while. Call me later and let me know where you'll be tonight, okay?"

"Okay," he said, watching his dad walk away. _The universe of weird. Is that my life now?_ Then he thought about Friday morning with Puck in their attic room, and waking up next to Finn that morning, and the feelings of comfort and love and satisfaction he'd gained from the two of them over the past weeks. On the cosmic scale, those feelings far outweighed the angst and confusion. _I guess it's worth it. No – I know it is. _

He poured a glass of juice and brought it downstairs to Finn, who was lying in the queen-sized guest bed, only half-awake. "Hey," he breathed, sitting on the edge of the bed. Finn's warm arms snaked out from beneath the comforter and wound around him, and he squeaked. "Watch out for the juice!"

One hand caught the glass before it could spill and set it on the bedside table. Then Finn pulled Kurt down into a gentle kiss. Kurt pulled away to look solemnly into his face. "We have… a situation." He told Finn about the letter and the omelette. Finn sighed.

"I'm not surprised he's acting out. Puck's already got stuff going on he hasn't told me about. It's gone on too long. I'm going to give him some time this afternoon."

_Some time_ sounded both ominous and delicious to Kurt, and he shivered. "I'm going to call Brad and see if he has time to meet this afternoon, then, while you two are busy. And I have a lot of homework to do; I'm going to grab Sarah and see if she wants to do hers, too." He bit his lip. "Maybe… tonight you can give both of us… some time? What we were talking about last night?"

"I'd love that," Finn said. "Let's go to my house after dinner. I'd like to have all of us eat together tonight, our parents and Sarah too. Sound good?"

"Yeah," Kurt nodded. He put a hand on Finn's chest and stroked the dusting of pale hair. "Finn…" he whispered. "We're really doing this? We're making this family together. All of us."

"It sure looks that way. How's it feel?" Finn's question was calm, but his eyes were anxious.

Kurt let out a shaky breath. "It feels like – exactly what I've always wanted. In a really confusing way, sometimes, but still. Amazing, and just right."

"Me, too," Finn said, letting out his own breath. He smiled, so big and honest that Kurt felt like crying. Instead he kissed him again. Kurt didn't believe in God, but in that moment, he put out a wish to the universe, to anything that might be listening: _please… let things stay just as they are now. Just for a little while. _

* * *

><p>"You're <em>sure<em> your mom won't be back from tennis until 1:00?" Puck's voice was obstinate and ornery, which Finn knew was a sure sign he needed some attention. He watched Puck's body language as he bristled at a touch, and came close to snapping at him when Finn rubbed against his side.

"I'm sure," Finn said quietly. "You want a glass of water?"

"No, Finn, I don't want a fucking glass of water," he snapped. Suddenly Finn was in his face, kissing him, and he was kissing back.

"You've got something on your mind," Finn said, tersely.

Puck didn't look at him. "Maybe."

"I want you to go upstairs to my room and take off your pants." Finn heard Puck's sharp intake of breath, and he pressed: "Shorts too. You can wait on the bed."

He knew Puck would rather wait on the floor, but he didn't want to offer any comfort right now, not yet. He would count himself lucky if he could get to the point of first impact without Puck telling him to fuck off, because that was just about where Puck was right now.

Puck did much better if they could give him this every night, but sometimes it just wasn't possible. Last night with Mercedes, for example. She'd been so cool with them flirting and cuddling, but _this…_ this wasn't something they were ready to share with _anybody_ else. (_Except Carl,_ said a smooth, taunting voice inside, but he ignored it.) Finn hadn't been about to nip off to the bedroom with Puck, mostly because what they did was… _loud._ And unpredictable in length. Sometimes Puck broke down right away, but Finn was willing to bet today would not be one of those days.

Finn watched Puck as he glanced up the stairs, then at Finn, and finally gave a great big sigh and trudged up to Finn's room. _Good boy,_ he thought, but did not say, not yet.

Finn went to get a big glass of water and brought it upstairs. There were no messages from his mom – she usually left them on the fridge, knowing he would go for food before just about anything else. This morning, though, something else was going to come first. He was going to break his boy down, whatever it took.

Puck was in the center of the bed, scowling and naked from the waist down. "You ready to talk?" Finn offered again.

"What about?" Puck asked.

Finn knew there were two possibilities at play here. Puck might be hiding something, or he might _really_ not know what was going on. Sometimes Puck was best at hiding things from himself.

"Something's bothering you?" Finn suggested. Puck shrugged. "Is the thing with Kurt and the guys at school?"

"No," Puck said, but he sounded less sure now. He shifted on the bed, so he was kneeling, and Finn didn't think he was even aware he was doing it. Finn felt a familiar rush of appreciation for just how vulnerable Puck was willing to be with him.

"You read that letter from Toby," he said, and Puck tensed, then nodded. "I don't want to know what it said."

"Yes, you do," Puck muttered. "Trust me, you do."

"Not until Mr. Schue tells me himself, whatever it was. That was his letter. We have no right to invade his privacy."

Finn reached out a hand and put it on the space on Puck's lower back, just above his ass; the other one he used to stroke Puck's neck. Sometimes he could feel Puck radiating heat through his hands, but today he was cool. He leaned in and kissed him on the throat, and Puck tipped his head back to give Finn access to his neck, the very picture of submission. But he wasn't there yet.

"Get down on your elbows, knees up, legs spread." He helped Puck position himself correctly, then he took his hands away, knowing it would be more effective if he took his time. He breathed into the energy he felt spiraling upward, making circles on Puck's back. Puck unconsciously thrust back into his hand.

"You're resisting me. You're hiding something. I want you to let it go." He stroked down Puck's back, along his spine, feeling each bump and ridge. "I'm here to take care of you."

"Yes… sir." Puck's voice was low now, as he began to slide down into that submissive space. Finn resonated to his voice, much as he knew Puck did to his; it made him tremble inside.

He wanted to hear him say it again, so he offered something. "You can make as much noise as you want."

"Thank you, sir," Puck said. He really didn't sound particularly thankful, but Finn knew that would come later.

There was a pause while Finn took his hands off Puck and let him prepare. He watched Puck take a deep breath, settle himself further onto his arms and close his eyes. This little submission was the first step. As long he was willing to be here, with Finn - as long as he chose it, freely - Finn was willing to take the next step for him. He wondered if there would come a day when Puck would resist so strongly that he ran from Finn, and the thought made his heart hurt so much he waited a little longer than he'd intended. Puck squirmed on the bed in front of him.

And then his hand came down on Puck's bare backside with a loud _smack._ Puck jumped and made a grunting sound. Finn knew enough, now, how to deliver the blows without injuring himself, but it still took a good deal of energy and focus to land each one in the same spot. The second came down quickly, and the third, and Puck groaned, "Fuck."

"Let it go," Finn said, encouraging. "Give it up, now, you're mine to take care of." He felt Puck tensing, and he knew this would make the swats hurt more. He threw himself into each one, and he could actually see Puck's back muscles knotting.

Puck started making low moans, responding to each impact. Finn was having trouble staying focused on what he was doing, with Puck's bare ass opening to him, but he wasn't done yet, not by a long shot.

"Carl showed me some tools," he said, bending down to get closer to his ear. Puck wasn't looking at him, but he was definitely listening, because his breathing changed again, becoming sharper, more distinct. "He had… a paddle. A leather one, with a studded handle." He made his swats sharper, too, and Puck exclaimed into the next one. "You like that idea? You want us to get a paddle and try it on your ass?"

"Ohhh," Puck whined, and squirmed again. The next blow made him jump and swear, but he still did not give in. Finn tried again.

"I'm in charge, now," he said, watching Puck whimpering, but still resisting. He felt the thrum of the energy, like the revving of a car, but it wasn't going anywhere, and it was making him antsy. He needed… he needed… _shit._ He sighed. He stopped, rubbing Puck's ass in a broad, round circle. Puck's head hung low, still full of tension. _He needed something. That paddle might be the only thing, unless he wanted to grab one of the wooden spoons from the kitchen. _But he didn't want to get up and interrupt things now. Maybe… he felt the frustration winding up his arms.

"This wasn't enough," Finn said. "You're holding on to it."

Puck was panting, not with the pain, but with the effort he was expending in _not_ letting go. Puck was hard on himself, Finn knew, and would blame himself if he couldn't do it. Finn blew a raspberry through his lips. "I think you're going to have to spank _me,"_ he joked. It had the desired effect; Puck was startled out of his reverie, and laughed incredulously at the ridiculous image. Finn took advantage of his relaxation to press him down into the bed, using his hips to grind him flat. The timbre of Puck's moans changed a little, and he thrust back against Finn's hard cock.

"Yeah," Finn hummed, with a little edge to his voice. "I'm going to have to use a different tool here." He slid the zipper down on his jeans, conscious of Puck's anxious, needy breathing, and felt under the bed for the little bottle of lube they'd bought in anticipation of last week's new activities.

Finn was already feeling a little…_ behind_… when it came to activities relating to lube. His boys had gotten off, repeatedly and with relish, to being the receivers. Finn had vivid, detailed memories of Puck's fingers, Puck's hot, wet tongue, that had followed him into his dreams, and he was pretty damn sure that being on the bottom was going to suit him _just_ fine, but he hadn't managed to organize that particular activity yet. _Not that being on top was bad, _he thought as he stripped off his jeans and coated himself with lube, _no. Not at all. _

"You getting a sense of the kind of tool I'm going to try next?" Finn teased, rubbing a fingerful of lube into Puck's tight hole, delighting in the sounds he made in return. "Yeah. I thought you might like that. All you have to do is give it up. Tell me what's wrong. Then, I'm going to fuck you into next week."

"_Finn,"_ Puck gasped, opening to his fingers like the proverbial flower. It really _did_ feel like that – except that flowers weren't hot and slick. Well, maybe they were, but only bees would know. He wondered if flowers and bees loved it as much as Puck and Finn did.

"What do you say?" Finn coaxed. "You going to let me? Or do I need to jack off on your back and leave you hot and unfucked? That doesn't sound like much fun, man."

"Finn, please," he panted, begging, just the way Finn liked it, but it wasn't going to help this time. "God, I need it, please, just –" He sounded like a bratty little boy, and Finn thought of Carl, saying that of Puck: _he's a brat. _He wondered what that made _him,_ if there was a name for what _he_ was.

"I can wait," he said, threading his cock down between Puck's slick ass cheeks. The miraculous thing was, he _could _wait_,_ and this seemed to be directly linked to the satisfaction of his two boys – if he needed to, he could wait until they were both done – and this was amazingly, fantastically freeing for Finn, who'd been at the mercy of his body's hair trigger for so long.

He groped with one hand around the front of Puck's naked bottom half and found him leaking and ready. "_You_ might not be able to wait, though. I bet if I told you to come, you would. Not that I'd tell you. Not until you let it go and tell me what's bothering you." He made a tut-tutting sound at Puck's frustration. "Too bad, really. I might never fuck you again."

He wasn't prepared for Puck's reaction to that statement, meant in jest, but Puck apparently took it entirely seriously. He twisted his body around to stare at Finn, his eyes wide like hubcaps, mouth dropped low in horror. "No," he said, and there was actual _panic_ in his voice, and he was scrabbling at Finn with his hands, grabbing onto his shirt, "no, please – anything, I can't – I can't do without that – "

"God, Puck, no, it was just a joke." He wrapped Puck up in his arms, held him close, felt him shuddering, and ah, _there_, Puck was crying at last, sobbing, into Finn's shirt. He was more surprised than worried at Puck's reaction. "Shhh," he soothed, with gentle, firm pressure on his back. "It's all right. You're my boy. I'm still going to take care of you. All my life, I'll be here."

"All – all your life?" Puck gulped, trying to pull back to look at Finn, but Finn trapped him in his grasp and spoke into his ear.

"Shhh. Not now. Just – here we are, now. Let's get through this moment. Then we can talk about – all our lives." He heard the hoarse, desperate quality of his own voice and he had to swallow around the great big lump that had sprung up in his throat. He kicked himself for sabotaging Puck's breakdown. Now he really needed to do something… drastic.

He put on the stern face that worked so well when Puck or Kurt was misbehaving, and looked straight into Puck's eyes, pushing him down onto his back on the mattress. "You're going to tell me what's bothering you, now."

"I – I c-can't," Puck said, pleading with his eyes, running his hands all over Finn's body, not asking permission but just going for it, and Finn really couldn't complain. He still couldn't believe, sometimes, that Puck, self-proclaimed badass and his best friend for so many years, was the one here in his bed, begging to be fucked.

"Why can't you tell me?" Finn tried to sound reasonable, even as he was lining up the angle of his cock against Puck's hole, and pushing inside. It was the sweetest feeling in the world. "You know I'll forgive you, whatever it was."

"You won't – forgive this, man," he said, his voice hitching. "Oh, _fuck,_ Finn –"

"I _always_ forgive you." He bent over Puck's strong body, loving the way he could be _inside_ him at the same time he was holding him – and then, he nearly short-circuited at the idea of being _inside_ another human being; not just a human being, but _Puck._ He got his breathing under control, and thrust as evenly and firmly as he could. Puck took only a few strokes before he was coming on Finn's stomach, but Finn wasn't going to stop. He just kept his eyes on the intent of this, to get Puck to break down. Only that. "So what do you think I'm going to do, if I _don't _forgive you this time?"

"You're – you'll –" Puck was boneless now under Finn's thrusts, his pupils dark and huge. "You'll leave me," he admitted finally.

_Oh, Puck._ He wished he could say it was a measure of his stalwart courage that he didn't falter in his mission, but in truth it was that it just felt _so_ fucking _good_, that he never, ever wanted to stop. And he just said that: "I never, ever want to stop fucking you."

"God, Finn." Puck shook his head, tossing it back and forth, and squeezed his eyes shut.

Finn repeated the words, each time more intense, more loving, until with a breathy exclamation, _ahhhhh, _Puck came again, under the barrage of Finn's cock.

Finn held Puck's head firmly in his hands. "How could I leave you," he whispered into his ear, "when I need this so much?"

That was all he had to say. Puck lost all semblance of control, and began to make huge sobs, mixed with the words _I'm sorry,_ over and over again, while Finn quietly fucked him to completion. He thought maybe Puck came once more, but he couldn't be sure – in the grand scheme of things, it certainly didn't matter.

They lay sticky and still on Finn's bed, panting, and, Finn would bet, a little sore. "How could you think – " he started, then stopped, shaking his head, lying upon Puck's chest.

"Kurt," Puck said, and it was an accusation and a question at the same time. Finn shook his head again, but this time he smiled.

"I love Kurt," Finn said. "I love him more than I can say. But dude - so far, _you're_ the only one who's done _this _with him. And he seems pretty satisfied with that."

"Oh." Puck's tone was perplexed, but pleased. Finn could accept that.

He added, as tenderly as he could, "All my life, I want this with you."

Puck shifted, propped himself up on his elbows, and looked at Finn with red eyes. "You have no idea what you're saying, man," he said in a flat voice. "Seriously."

"And you're not going to tell me what it's all about?"

Puck hesitated, then shook his head.

Finn climbed off Puck with a groan and flopped on the bed next to him. "I guess I'm going to have to get one of those leather paddles, then. I can't think of anything else."

"Okay," Puck said, a little too quickly for Finn's liking. Finn chuckled and brushed Puck's hand with his knuckles.

"I don't think I got you where you need to go," he said. "But I'm not going to do anything else right now."

"Thanks for – everything," Puck replied, tightly, and Finn watched him sit up with regret. _No. Still not there. But we can work on it another time. _

"Thank _you,_ man." Finn sat up to kiss him, and stretched mightily, reaching for the glass of water he'd brought up before. He drank half and passed the rest to Puck, who swallowed gratefully. "Come on. How about we take a shower before my mom gets home?"

_Therapy – India Arie_

_I need your therapy_

_I need you to come and lay hands on me_

_He lays me on the couch and says_

_"How has your day been?_

_Tell me your problems;_

_I'll help you solve them._

_Come on, let's talk about it."_

_He sits next to me and smiles._

_Listens to all of my words,_

_Relaxes all of my nerves._

_Like breathe in (breathe in)_

_Let it go (shout it out)_

_Take deeps breathes and real slow, calm down._

_Close my eyes (soft spoke)_

_Ease my mind (take control)_

_From my body please_

_Work your psychology_

_You're taking good care of me_

_Always been there for me_

_Boy I can't bear to leave_

_Cause I need your therapy_

_You've given me everything_

_So much I ever could need_

_Without you I'm so weak in the knees_

_I need your therapy_

_He puts his hand on my lower back_

_His face in my neck and_

_Says something to make me laugh_

_Makes me forget I was mad_

_His touch feels so right_

_It's like he's reading my mind_

_I need him all the time_

_When it feels like I'm losing power_

_When I feels like a wilting flower_

_The way you touch me says I'm there for you_

_It heals me just to hear you say "I love you."_


	6. Chapter 6

Angela smiled when Puck edged into the office. "I don't usually get to see people on the weekend," she said. "I'm glad you came by."

"I had a hell of a morning," he said, sighing and sliding into the chair in front of her desk. "This thing with Finn – it's fucking with my brain. I hate keeping secrets from him."

"Did he spank you?" she asked, and when he nodded vigorously, she stroked her chin. "Jeez. I don't think I could hold out after that. All my secrets just spill out. Even the ones I didn't know I had. I get really, really honest."

"If I could just let go of it, let myself fall apart… but I couldn't. I _hate_ that." He leaned his head into his hands, and she lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I feel like such a failure. Like I'm a bad kid. A bad… sub. I don't know."

"I understand," Angela said, and he knew she did. _We recognized each other right away._ No words had needed to be spoken when they'd met; it was clear they were both coming from the same place. Whenever he came to visit, they just had a few minutes together, but he really appreciated talking to her. He knew he wasn't the only one in the world who _liked_ this, who _needed _it, but it was good to hear it from someone else for a change.

"Did you get what you were hoping for last night?" he said. She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

"I don't think he thinks I'm ready." She knotted her hands together. "Have you earned your collar yet?"

"It's not like that with us," he said, shaking his head. "Kurt, I think he'd get one for me tomorrow, just because he loves me." Puck felt a strange rush of heat at the words, but he knew it was true. He laughed. "And he likes to go shopping, so, yeah."

"What about Finn?" Angela's eyes were hungry, and Puck looked at her curiously.

"You met him, the other day?"

"Yeah."

Puck was silent for a minute. "What did you think?" he asked. "Pretty hot, huh?"

"You're dodging the question." She poked him in the arm. "But… he was cute. And really nice. He asked me if Dr. Howell was giving me what I needed." She giggled, turning pink. "I didn't get into details."

"Probably just as well," Puck said, grinning. "He gets embarrassed easily."

"So? The collar?"

Puck thought of Finn, sitting beside him on the bed, reading texts from Kurt and saying, _If you think you're going to do that, let me know first… so I can start saving up for a ring. Two rings. _"It's a bigger deal for Finn. And me. The biggest." He felt his chest constrict. "And, well, this business…" He gestured at the file on Angela's desk that read PUCKERMAN, NOAH. "He's… not going to like that."

"So, he'll give you a consequence, and you'll move on."

He let his head hang from his neck, shaking it, and swallowed the bitterness in his mouth. "He doesn't… I don't think he can do it. I don't think we'll be able to…" He couldn't say the words. "This is me, making my choice between her and him. And being too fucking chicken to tell him."

Her eyes widened. "That's really what you want?"

"I don't think I have a choice," he pleaded. "Without him, I'd be miserable… but without _her_, I don't think I could live with myself. Better to be fucking miserable and still alive, right?"

"I guess." She looked taken aback. "It doesn't seem like much of a choice, though. And he already laid down the law about her?"

"He's told me I needed to forget her." He could hear the bitterness leaking out in his voice. She winced.

"Ouch. Well, yeah, I see where you're coming from. But, Puck…" She took his hand and gave it a little squeeze. "He _loves_ you. And it doesn't sound like he really understands where you're coming from here. Hiding from him? That's just going to piss him off."

"I know." He chewed that same fingernail, the one that always got chewed to bits first, and regarded its torn, worried state with disgust. "I'm fucked, aren't I?"

"Well… if you need a place to stay, let me know," she said, not answering his question. "Mr. Lawton's got apartments all over town, and in some other towns if you need to get away." She handed him a packet of papers from the file. "Here's your copy of the affidavit."

He flipped to the last page, where Quinn's neat signature made a pattern across the line at the bottom. It actually looked like her name. Puck's signature was an unrecognizable scrawl. He wondered if his daughter would have neat handwriting, like Quinn's, or messy handwriting, like his. Or maybe some combination of the two? "I'm a papa," he murmured, tracing the signature with one finger.

He heard a door open in the hallway, and Mr. Lawton came out, accompanied by a shorter man with dark hair and artfully trimmed 4 o'clock shadow. Mr. Lawton smiled at Puck. "Nice to see you, Puck," he said, holding out a hand. Puck stood and shook it. "Did Angela get you those papers? Congratulations."

"Yeah," he said, trying to smile. "Thanks for everything."

"Well, we're not done yet," said Mr. Lawton. "But this was the big hoop. You need to meet and discuss the division of time… but the baby's not due for a few more months, right?"

"Spring," he nodded. "I can't remember the due date. But she – Quinn doesn't want to keep the baby. Doesn't that mean she's mine?"

"She has limited parenting rights after that, if she chooses to claim them. It's up to her to decide, in the end, and she can't do that until after the baby is born."

Puck noticed the other man watching him impassively. "Hey," he said. "You must be Carl? Finn said he met with you on Friday."

The man didn't answer, but Mr. Lawton glanced between them, and held out a tentative, warding hand. "Puck… there's a way to do these things…"

Puck noticed Angela's face turning red, eyes averted. "What?" he said, feeling irritated. "People don't get to talk to him, is that it?" He regarded the dark-haired man with scorn. "You better than the rest of us, or something?"

The man's lips twitched into something like a smile, but it was not any kind of smile Puck ever wanted to see again. It was the most awful thing he'd ever beheld on a beautiful face. He approached Puck slowly, looking him over coolly, as though Puck were a piece of furniture, or maybe a horse, or a sports car. He reached out a hand and ran it from Puck's shoulder down to his arm. Puck snatched his arm away, feeling his skin burning where the man had touched him. "Hey," he snapped. "Dude."

"Puck," Mr. Lawton said again, and this time he sounded rather desperate.

"It just doesn't know the rules," said the dark-haired man, in a carefully modulated voice. Puck imagined the voice could sound warm, but at the moment it was remote, calculating. "Davis, you've been remiss in briefing your client."

"It's been strictly business so far, sir," Mr. Lawton said. "I didn't see any reason…"

"You knew it was the property of my client," he demurred gently, and Puck was shocked to see Mr. Lawton drop into a familiar pose. It was one he himself took with some frequency, his hands behind his back, feet apart, head bowed. "You knew it would be entering into the office. It was your duty to inform it of appropriate procedures." Puck glanced at Angela again, but she was barely breathing, sitting like a stone statue behind the desk.

"Yes, sir," Mr. Lawton said. "May I…?"

"I'll take it from here," said the man, and Mr. Lawton left without another word. Puck felt a wave of unease as the door snicked shut.

"I'm – hey, whatever he did wrong, I'm sure it was just a mistake," Puck said, trying to be as diplomatic as he knew how, but the man took two strides to stand right before him – they were just about the same height – and put a hand on his mouth. It was warm and smelled clean and minty, like toothpaste.

"Property doesn't speak unless spoken to," he said, slowly and clearly. "It should nod once if it understands."

Puck recoiled, but found himself nodding once. The man's other hand came up immediately and wrapped around the back of his neck, preventing him from moving away. Puck's legs tingled and he tried not to stagger, and his gut tensed as the man removed his hand. He felt an inexplicable desire to ask him to put it back, but he didn't. _What the fuck…?_

"This isn't the correct procedure," he said, using his warm hands to efficiently position Puck's chin lower, his shoulders straight, to put his hands behind his back, one hand clasped around the other wrist. "I apologize for Davis' mistake. He should have made everything clear from the beginning." He ran his eyes up and down Puck's form, and Puck tried to hold all the little positions he'd given him. "It… should spread its legs a bit more."

Puck did so, and wondered _why_ he did_,_ but it was through a haze of anxious desire not to mess up again, overlaid with an awareness of the man's eyes on him. His casual use of the word _it_ referring to Puck made him feel oddly calm. When he nodded at Puck and said, "That's right," Puck relaxed a fraction, and fought the urge to thank him. _It doesn't speak,_ he reminded himself, and felt his heart speed up.

"When Finn is here, the rules might change," he said, circling Puck and returning to stand before him. "Property has more rights if its owner chooses. Otherwise, it should keep its eyes down and follow its owner's lead." His voice developed a tinge of concern. "It really shouldn't be out without its owner."

Puck felt a strange yearning as the man spoke the phrase, and his gaze flickered up briefly from the floor to see compassion on his face. He was _not_ going to cry.

"It shouldn't feel bad for needing to be cared for," the man said, gently. "It's the purpose of the property to be owned."

_It's the purpose of the property to be owned._ Puck's stomach turned over, and he felt a sudden panic. _I can't throw up on his floor._

But the man was walking away, over to the desk where Angela was sitting. "Any calls, Angela?"

"No, sir," she said softly.

"Thank you for coming in on a Saturday," he said, and Puck heard her laugh, equally softly.

"It's my pleasure, Dr. Howell," she said, and her voice was full of familiar longing. Puck knew he sounded like that when he talked to Finn sometimes.

"You may come in tomorrow two hours later," said Dr. Howell, "and I'll have something for you tonight, if you want to come by my apartment at 10."

"Yes, sir," she breathed. "Thank you, sir."

Puck felt the doctor's warm hand on his back just once, before the front door opened and closed.

"Can I move now?" Puck whispered.

"Yeah," Angela said, standing and hurrying over to him. "Oh, god, you look awful… that must have been so stressful. I wanted to tell you – but I didn't dare." She let him lean on her as she led him to a chair. "Do you want – should I call someone?"

"Finn doesn't know I'm here," he said, sounding wretched, and she sighed.

"You're playing a complicated game. I don't envy you the results. What are you going to do?"

"Let me just –" They both looked up as Mr. Lawton returned from the back hallway, looking aghast.

"Puck," he said, "I'm so sorry. That was completely unprofessional of me."

"Unprofessional?" Puck stared at him, incredulous. He could feel a headache starting. "I felt like a complete idiot! What the fuck?"

"I know, I know," he groaned, crouching down beside Puck and looking into his face anxiously. "He's all about ceremony, and I didn't – I just didn't think. We don't usually have clients come to this office who don't already know all the rules."

"I'm not so good at following rules," Puck said, but even as he spoke the words, he knew that wasn't true here. He _wanted_ to follow them. He just didn't know what they were yet.

"Make an effort," Mr. Lawton begged. "He's pretty hands off when it comes to other people's property, but I can't promise he might not decide you need a little reminder."

"Oh, god," Puck said, feeling his gut twist and his cock jump. "What the hell kind of place is this?"

"You haven't been upstairs yet," Angela said, with a tiny smile. "I think you'll like it."

"Puck, I want to brief you about the rules, but I think you need to go home now," Mr. Lawton said. He ran a smooth hand over Puck's sweaty brow. Puck realized he'd been sweating all over, and now he was cold. He shivered. "Is there someone who can come pick you up?"

"I've got my truck," Puck said. "I'll be okay."

They walked to the door together, and Mr. Lawton hesitated. His blonde hair was perfectly arranged, and his suit was crisp and official looking, but in that moment, he and Puck were just equals, two subs who were looking out for each other, just like he'd been with Angela. "You should get something to eat," he said. "I always need food after Carl gets like that. Would you call me and let me know you got home?"

"Okay," he nodded. "But I don't think I can eat."

"You need something," Mr. Lawton said, shaking his head. "That energy needs to go somewhere."

"I'll… I'll cook," he said, blinking. "I'll make something sweet. That always helps."

Mr. Lawton relaxed. "All right. Do that. And call me. I'm really sorry, Puck."

"It's okay." He hugged the man, on an impulse, and Mr. Lawton hugged him back, looking surprised, but not displeased. "I'm all right."

"You're not," he said quietly. "You need your Top. Go home and let him take care of you."

Puck clutched the affidavit of parenthood to his chest and shook his head. "I… I think I'm on my own in this. I'll manage."

He left before Mr. Lawton could say anything else. The sun was bright and the day frosty, and Puck shivered and blinked to be out on the sidewalk, surrounded by people, like he was in another world. He took a few steps in the wrong direction before turning around and heading to the parking lot to climb into his truck.

As soon as the door closed, he began to shake, and fumbled for his phone. _Kurt. Kurt will know what to do._ He pushed the button and dialed the phone, chewing on that finger again, feeling the pain and welcoming it. He felt like he barely had a grip on reality, but the pain, _that _was real – it was the same as it had been yesterday, and last week, and last year. It was familiar, and wasn't going to change. The pain, he could rely on.

"Hi, Noah," Kurt said. "I got your omelette."

"Kurt," he said, his teeth chattering, trying to keep a hold on the phone. "I'm freaking out."

"Where are you?" he said immediately, concern in his voice. "Sweetheart… let me come get you."

"Can you bring my coat?" he said, wrapping his free hand around his bare arm. "It's… it's colder out here than I expected."

* * *

><p>"How am I going to get my truck back?" Puck asked as Kurt led him in to sit on the couch. Sarah had not let go of his hand since they'd picked him up in the parking lot downtown.<p>

"Finn's driving your truck back here," Kurt soothed, draping the fleece blanket over his shoulders and tucking it under his legs. Puck was still shivering, but at those words he looked up at Kurt, alarm evident on his face.

"Finn's going to know why I was there," he moaned. "He knows that parking lot."

Kurt turned to Sarah. "Could you bring Noah a cup of hot cocoa?"

"He hates cocoa," she said. "I'll make him some Darjeeling. And you're just trying to get rid of me." She stared defiantly back at Kurt. "You know there's nothing you can't say in front of me, right?"

"I'll tell you all about it later, squirt," Puck said tiredly, and she sighed and went upstairs, glancing back at the two of them.

"She's not used to me depending on anybody else." Puck kept shivering, even when Kurt wrapped his arms around him and pulled him in close. He wished Finn would get home so Puck could sit on his lap.

"Can you tell me what happened _now?"_ he murmured into Puck's ear, and Puck leaned his head into Kurt's neck.

"I met Doctor Howell." He shuddered as he said the name. "He was there at the office. I didn't know the rules. He made me – made me – " He stopped talking and just shook.

"Noah," Kurt said, "you're scaring me. What did he do?" He could feel the anger beginning to build. "Did he touch you?"

"Not – really." Puck lay back on the couch and groaned. "God, Kurt, I can't even explain how he made me feel. It was fucking _scary,_ how he just got in under my skin. I didn't want to do anything other than what he told me. And…" He put a hand on his chest. "My heart's going to fucking explode. He called me… something."

"What?" Kurt asked, afraid to hear the answer.

"_It._ He called me… _it._ Like I was a _thing."_ His eyes, wide and puzzled, went to Kurt's. "He said I was property. Finn's. And I…" He swallowed. "I liked it."

"Sweetheart," Kurt whispered, but Puck shook his head.

"It's too weird, I know. I just – I can't wrap my brain around it, but my brain wasn't _thinking._ It was like he totally bypassed my brain and went straight for my gut." He laughed, totally humorless. "And my cock. He's fucking hot."

Kurt wasn't sure what to do with that, but he could see Puck was calming down, and the shaking had stopped. Sarah appeared with a cup of tea, doctored with milk, and Puck took it, sipped, and set it down on the table. "It's okay," he said when Kurt looked from him to Sarah. "She knows stuff about me. I don't think any of this would faze her."

"We've got an appointment with him on Tuesday," Kurt said slowly. "Do you – do you still want to go? We can cancel."

"Noo-ooo," he replied, hesitantly. "I… I don't think so. I think I still want to go. I'm just glad you and Finn will be there." He covered his eyes with his hands. "I really don't think I could say no to him. About anything. Like, _anything."_

They heard the truck door slam in the driveway, and Finn came through the garage door. He was at the couch in three anxious strides. "Are you all right?" he said, putting his hands on Puck's shoulders.

"Yeah," Puck said, closing his eyes. Kurt watched him holding Finn's hands like a lifeline, and he looked up at Finn, who was wary and confused. He sighed.

"Between the two of you this weekend, I think I'm going to have a nervous breakdown," Finn said. "What was it? Why were you at Carl's office?"

"I was – picking up paperwork from my lawyer. Mr. Lawton." Puck's eyes went to Sarah and back to Finn, and Finn nodded like he understood. "Dr. Howell… he's pretty fucking scary."

"You think so?" Finn looked even more confused. "I thought he was nice."

"Yeah; that's because you're the Top," Puck grumbled. _"I'm_ apparently property and don't even get gendered pronouns."

"What?" Finn shook his head, like he had water in his ear. He wrinkled his brow. "Are you sure he wasn't just messing with you?"

"_No,"_ Puck said, baring his teeth. "I'm sure."

Finn blinked, and nodded slowly. "Okay. Are – is there a problem? Do you want me to call him and talk to him? If he made you feel bad, I think it would be appropriate for me to deal with it."

"Noah doesn't feel bad," Sarah said, leaning over the edge of the couch. "He feels embarrassed. 'Cause he liked it."

They all stared at Sarah. "Okay, I'm a little squicked that you understand that," Kurt told her, but she shook her head.

"I don't, not really. But I know Noah. Whatever it was that happened with this doctor, it wasn't bad. It was just intense."

Finn raised questioning eyebrows at Puck, who thought about it for a moment, and then, reluctantly, nodded. "Dude," Finn said uneasily. "You want me to treat you like property? I'm not sure I'm down with that."

"No!" Puck said angrily, giving Finn a little push. "Fuck you. I just…" He let out a noise of frustration, and Finn rolled his eyes before hoisting a protesting Puck into his lap. He held on with both arms while Puck struggled and complained, but that didn't last long.

"I'm not happy that he treated you that way," Finn said against his neck, as Puck tried to get loose. "You're still a person. You have say over what happens to you. You get to choose this, to be with me, like this. Is that what you want?"

"God dammit, Hudson," Puck growled. "Why do you keep _asking_ me that?"

"Because you're giving me crazy mixed messages. Tell me again. You want it?"

"_Yes,"_ he said furious, "I want it."

"Okay, then," Finn said. "Now are you going to tell me why you were really there today?"

Puck stopped struggling and folded in on himself. "No," he said.

Sarah poked him with a finger. "Jeez, Noah, what are you, six?"

"I think this is the time when we go study," Kurt said to Sarah, tugging her sleeve with one hand. "Finn will take care of it."

Sarah walked silently up the stairs beside Kurt. "How… does he take care of it?" she asked, then immediately she said, "No, wait, I don't think I want to know."

"You really don't," Kurt said, and as they rounded the stairs to the first floor, he heard the guest room door closing. _Well, better there than in my room, _he thought, with a prickle of envy. "Some things are better left a mystery until you're a grownup."

"Since when are you guys grownups?" Sarah complained. "I'm five years younger than you. In the grand scheme of things, that's nothing." She gave him a knowing look. "It's the puberty thing, isn't it?"

"Uh," Kurt said. "Something like that." He honestly didn't know if these were things he'd wanted in prepubescence. She slipped her hand into his as they took side-by-side seats at the dining table.

"I bet it's confusing."

"Yeah," he agreed. "I wish it wasn't. But… you know I love Noah, a lot, right?"

"Of course," she said, as though it were obvious. "And he loves you a lot."

"Yeah," he said again. "At least that part's not confusing."

She took out her spelling notebook and a sharp pencil. "I don't know if you realize how big of a deal that is, Kurt," she said slowly. The pencil tapped against the notebook.

"What do you mean?"

"Well… me, and Noah, and Timmy, the way our Ma loves us? That's not something we could always count on. Sometimes it was there and sometimes it wasn't. But you – you _always_ love Noah. Even when you're mad, or if he does something wrong. You love him anyway."

"I don't really know how to love any other way," Kurt said. "It's how my dad loves me, and how my mom loved me."

Sarah nodded solemnly. "You think Mrs. Hudson loves like that, too?"

"Carole? I sure hope so, for my dad's sake." He flipped open his brand-new notebook and took out Finn's American history textbook - his own had been soaked beyond repair - but he had to read one sentence three times for it to make sense. He sighed.

"Kurt?"

"Yeah?"

Sarah's face was pensive. "I think maybe you should go downstairs and make sure Noah's okay. It's not that Finn's not awesome. It's – well, he called _you_ for help. I think he needs _you."_

Kurt rose to his feet before he could think, and Sarah was nodding. "I'll be here," she added.

"Yeah," he said, smiling. "You love like that, too."

* * *

><p>Kurt pressed the bell and waited on the porch for Brad to answer the door, but he was startled by a little screech and several sets of thudding footfalls coming around the wrap-around porch instead. Two tiny heads hove into view, making their way along the green painted boards, one white-blonde, the other dark and curly-haired. They came to a stumbling halt in front of Kurt, staring up, wide-eyed and adorable.<p>

"Hi," he said, grinning, and the dark-haired one grinned back. The blonde, smaller and younger, hung back behind her brother with a finger in her drooling mouth.

"Mommy's a dinosaur," said the little boy, in a squeaky sweet voice. "I'm a carnivore and she's a flying reptile."

"Me, too," said the little girl, around her finger.

"Can I be a dinosaur, too?" Kurt asked, kneeling to be at their eye level.

Adult footsteps heralded the arrival of the aforementioned Mommy. She was a beauty, blonde like the girl, slim and pixy-like, in jeans and a Baldwin-Wallace University sweatshirt. "Hi there," she said, smiling, with a faint accent. "You here for a lesson?"

"Yes," he said, "but apparently I'm also here to be a dinosaur."

"That is excellent news," she said with a chuckle. "We love dinosaurs here."

"You can be an herbivore," said the boy. "I need someone to hunt."

Kurt cocked his head. "How old are you?"

"Three," said the boy, holding up three fingers with much effort. "We're both three. I'm almost four."

He raised an eyebrow at the boy's mother. "Should three-year-olds know what an herbivore is?"

"This one does," she said. "Come on, let's get inside, dinosaurs. I'll make you lunch. You want to join us…?"

"Kurt," he said, and she let out an unexpected squeak and nearly shut the screen door on her tiny blonde child. Kurt caught it before the little girl could get her hand stuck.

"You're _Kurt!"_ said the woman in excitement. "Oh, Brad's told us all about you."

"That's ominous," he said, bemused, but smiling. "Are you Andi or Laurie?"

"Laurie," she said, shuffling them all through the door at last. "Are you really here for a piano lesson, then, or are is this a pretext to hang out and talk about polyamory?"

"Poly-whatzit?" Kurt said, following her and her entourage into the kitchen. He set Brad's duet book down on the counter and accepted the glass of water she placed into his hand. She apparently had some kind of mommy magic, because the kids had clean hands and were sitting at the table with cheese and crackers within minutes.

Laurie thought, then retrieved a book from one of the many shelves that lined their hallway. Kurt choked a little at the title: _The Ethical Slut._ "It's the best book on multiple partner relationships," Laurie added. "Read it together. It'll give you lots of good discussion fodder."

"Thanks," he said, slipping it into his bag. "And, um, I'd love to talk, but I really am here for a piano lesson."

"That's good," said Brad, from right behind him. Kurt jumped.

"Honey, don't sneak up on him like that," Laurie said, smirking, and retrieved his empty water glass. "Kurt, come find us after you're done and we can chat."

"And play dinosaurs!" added the little boy, with his mouth full of cheese.

"Thanks," he said again, waving at the kids. He followed Brad down a sunny hallway to a studio room. There were two pianos and lots of other instruments hung on the wall, along with pictures of famous musicians. Kurt's eyes grew wide at the autographed photo of Elton John.

"Glad you decided to show," Brad said, adjusting the position of the piano bench.

"I wish I could say it was all for good reasons," Kurt replied, and he pulled Toby's letter out of his pocket. "I saved this from Coach Sylvester on Friday. I think she found it in Mr. Schue's office."

Brad frowned and took the letter from him, glancing at the return address. "How did you manage that?"

"It's a long story," Kurt hedged. He didn't want to get into the details right now, because he knew there would be anger and phone calls and embarrassment and he'd had enough of that with Puck and Finn already. "I didn't read it," he added. "Noah – Puck – he did, but I told him not to tell me what it said. I'm sorry for that."

Brad lifted the flap and slowly pulled out the letter, which was written in a neat script. He skimmed it, his eyes flickering up to Kurt, and finally folded it up again and put it into his pocket. "Thanks," he said. "I'm not sure – Sue probably read it already."

"Almost certainly," Kurt agreed. "Would… is it incriminating?"

"Sue can always find something incriminating, even in the most innocent of situations," Brad said, and the venom in his voice surprised Kurt. Then he sighed. "I'm sorry; I shouldn't be bad-mouthing your teacher. She's not all bad."

"Um, _yes,_ she is," Kurt said emphatically. "She's evil incarnate. Trust me."

Brad's lip twitched, but he turned to the piano. "All right. Let's dig into those duets. Show me which ones you practiced."

Kurt was effectively able to lose himself in the music, and even a brief interruption from the little white-blonde girl didn't distract him too badly ("Read me a book?"). He'd forgotten how calm he felt after playing the piano. It reminded him a little of how he felt after a spanking from Finn, but _that_ was _not _something he was going to discuss with Brad.

"These are easy for you," Brad said, and Kurt nodded. "That's fine. Playing easy pieces like this will help your sight-reading and get your fingers back into shape. If you think you might want to come back -?"

"Oh – yes, please," Kurt said. Brad smiled.

"That's good to hear. Let's find you a couple more challenging pieces you can practice, something with some left/right hand counterpoint… How about one of these Bach inventions. Try the first section of number 8, right hand only." Kurt sight-read the right hand, and Brad helped him with a tricky fingering. "You can practice the left hand but don't try putting them together yet." Brad thought, stroking his beard. "What else... what do you think of Debussy?"

"J'aime beaucoup," he nodded approvingly. Brad propped the book on the piano and music flowed from his fingers. Kurt watched, entranced, and when he was done, there was light applause from the doorway; Laurie and Duncan were clapping.

"Okay?" Brad said, and handed Kurt the book, marking a section with a pencil. "Try the first C major part, up to here, nice and slow – you're going for technical accuracy, not speed. Did you see how the fingers for both hands are so close? You're going to need to cross over at some point, so let me show you that next time."

"I don't know if I can play that piece," Kurt said dubiously, eyeing the music.

"Are you kidding? You're the one who came up with that piano part for Hair, right?"

"Playing my own music is different."

Brad nodded understanding. "You want to bring me one of your pieces next time?"

"Uh…" Kurt wasn't at all sure he was ready to share one of his musical creations with anyone else, but Brad was just waiting, patiently and quietly. "Maybe?"

"I'll take maybe," he smiled.

The kids stalked him in the hallway as he exited the studio, but he pretended not to notice until they pounced on him, and he squealed in appropriate terror. "Are you a T-Rex?" Kurt cried, scrambling around the corner and hiding behind the ottoman.

"No, this is the early Cretaceous," Duncan said, matter-of-factly. "I'm an Acrocanthosaurus. You can be an Iguanodon."

Kurt got up off the floor. "Thank goodness, they walked on two legs. These pants are Versace."

"You sound like Uncle Toby," Duncan said, which made Kurt pause for a moment.

"Why do you say that?" he asked casually.

"You just do," Duncan shrugged. "I'm going to eat you now."

"Oh dear," said Kurt, and the chase was on, through the kitchen, around the sun porch and several times through the family room, where eventually they wound up sprawled on the couch, enthralled by Blue's Clues.

Laurie handed Kurt an oatmeal cookie and a framed picture. "Uncle Toby," she gestured, munching her own cookie. "And the rest of us. There's Terri, and Will – Mr. Schuester to you – and Toby, Andi, and me. We were at Baldwin-Wallace College. Brad and Terri went to Ohio, but we spent a lot of weekends together."

Mr. Schue looked a lot younger, but still like himself. Laurie looked almost exactly the same, though her hair was shorter; so was Brad's, and his beard was sparser. Andi was tiny, but clearly feisty, grabbing onto Brad's arm and caught in mid-shout in the picture.

And Toby – he was tall and handsome, with dark brown hair and an infectious, sideways grin that reminded Kurt a little of Finn's. He was holding Mr. Schue's hand and lifting it high. Terri, on the other side, was clutching Mr. Schue's arm and smiling brilliantly. She'd been even prettier back then.

"Why did Duncan say I sound like Toby?" he wondered. The cookie was delicious.

"You have a similar quality to your voice," she said. "It's a lot of things – your inflection, your attitude."

Kurt nodded. "Toby's gay, too?"

"Yes." Laurie shrugged, her gesture just like Duncan's. "But so am I. I don't think you can tell much about a person's sexuality by how they sound or act."

Kurt thought of Puck and Finn. He'd never have expected it of Puck, but – Finn? Maybe. "You don't think there's something to be said for gaydar?"

"Sure, as a hunch, or an educated guess, built from all the evidence. Not just one stereotypical thing." She laughed. "But Toby's pretty stereotypical."

"I guess I am, too," Kurt said. "Even before I was out, I guess everybody suspected. The boys I'm… dating, though… not so much. They were jocks – I mean, they still are – but they're more, too."

"Of course they are," Laurie nodded. "Andi's not stereotypically gay, either. I was her first girlfriend. Though not her last."

Kurt was startled. "You – date other people?"

"Occasionally. One of the most fantastic things about being poly is that you can really be honest with your feelings. You can listen to your heart, and respond to it, and not hide it from your other lovers when you fall in love with someone new."

"Wow," said Kurt, blinking. "So you have -?"

"I'm mostly a mommy these days," Laurie said wryly. "Though I do visit old lovers sometimes. It's hard to find time or energy to do anything else when you have two toddlers in your house."

"I can imagine," Kurt said, looking down at the blonde-white girl, Cory, curled up on the couch watching television with her fingers in her mouth. "They're both lovely." He hesitated, then asked, "How is it, having kids, with – more than two?"

"Much the same as with two, I imagine," Laurie said, "except you get a tiny fraction more sleep."

Kurt shook his head. Duncan was half-asleep in the recliner chair. "I can't imagine being responsible for a tiny person like this, 24 hours a day."

"It's pretty life-changing." Laurie stood and did a casual sweep of the family room, picking up toys and stray snacks and all the bits and pieces of toddlerhood that littered the floor. "We had to work hard to have these two. I feel lucky that it worked out as well as it did. So many things can go wrong."

Kurt felt a prickling wave of premonition. _So many things can go wrong._ "Noah – " he started, then he decided not to go there. "I should probably get going."

"It was good talking to you, Kurt," said Laurie. "Maybe next time you come for a lesson, you can stay for dinner? Andi would love to meet you."

"That'd be great," Kurt agreed, retrieving his piano music and walking to the door. "Thank you for the cookie."

Laurie hugged him and waved goodbye from the porch. "Thank you for the dinosaur."

* * *

><p><em>The pieces Kurt is learning can be found here:<em>

_Dr. Gradus ad Paranassum: __http:/www__. youtube. com/watch?v=1qj5AkjvOAw_

_Bach Invention #8: __http:/www__. youtube. com/watch?v=omsIpJ9Fwas_


	7. Chapter 7

_(Author's note: sorry for the piddling little update; I've been over at Gold Mine writing Puckofsky this week, and finishing up Writing Graffiti on Your Body with knittycat99 last week. The angst is growing... bad things are afoot. Stick around! -amy)_

* * *

><p>While Burt and Sarah cleaned up the dinner dishes, Kurt dug out the book Laurie had given them from his bag. He looked over the music Brad had assigned him, and shook his head in dismay. It looked challenging, probably beyond his ability – but Brad had seemed to think he could do it, so maybe he could? And the thought of taking a bigger risk, and sharing the music <em>he'd<em> written with Brad, or anyone, for that matter – that was enough to give him heart palpitations. He sighed and flipped through to the table of contents.

"What's that?" Puck said, leaning over Kurt from behind the couch. Puck was looking a bit calmer since he'd baked some sweets, and had a little time with the two of them. Sarah's intuition had been a good one; as much as he clearly needed Finn, Kurt thought Puck had especially appreciated attention from him, too. Kurt felt warm inside, and he gazed up at Puck with affection.

"It's a book I got from Laurie, one of Brad's wives."

Puck took a bite of one of his amazing "everything bars" – they were moist and chewy and really did seem to have everything in them, from walnuts to crumbles of hard cheese, and they tasted fantastic – and put a casual hand on Kurt's shoulder. "Can you really have two wives? I mean, that's illegal, right?"

"That's what Brad called them," Kurt shrugged. "I don't think it's a legal marriage."

"Well, is he really married to either one of them, then?" Finn took a seat on the family room couch next to Kurt.

"I'd say he's _really married_ to both of them, even if it's not legal," Kurt retorted. "Inasmuch as our elected officials continue to compare gay marriage to bestiality and incest, I don't think they'll look favorably on… what do they call it? Polyamorous marriage." He flipped over the book to look at the back. "Although I'm not sure I like the idea of being called a…" He whispered the word, glancing at the kitchen. "A slut."

"An _ethical_ slut," Puck pointed out, coming around to sit by Kurt. "There's nothing wrong with that, right?"

"Any kind of slut," Kurt protested. "Historically, I've been a little bit of a prude."

Finn smothered a laugh in his hand. "Baby… I don't think you can count how you were last year toward the stuff we did this year. Look at what we've been up to. Would you say that's in any way prudish?"

"Um. No," Kurt agreed, averting his eyes and blushing.

"That's a _big_ no, Hummel," Puck said, nudging him and making Kurt blush harder.

"Laurie said they still date other people," he said, trying to change the subject. "I mean, outside their family. But she said that even if _we _don't, we should talk about all the ways people manage this kind of relationship. I guess we should read it and see what it says."

"Sure," Finn said. "We can take turns, like we did with All the King's Men."

Puck's face brightened, softening. "I liked that."

"I like _this,_ Noah," Kurt said quietly, touching Puck's cheek. "I like it best of all."

"What do you mean?"

Kurt reddened. "This look on your face, the way you're feeling. I mean – don't get me wrong, I love all the private things we do… in so many ways. But this? Just, being together, the three of us?"

"Home," Finn agreed. He pulled Kurt against his chest, his arms tucked around Kurt from behind. "Me, too."

Puck didn't respond. It made Kurt think about what Sarah had said, about being loved, and how it wasn't something he'd been able to take for granted. "Come here," he said, and he tugged Puck around until he was reclining in Kurt's arms, the three of them linked like kids making a choo-choo train, stretched out on the couch. Puck was stiff and uncomfortable at first, but gradually he relaxed, and finally he laid his head back on Kurt's shoulder.

"Don't you like it?" Kurt asked, stroking his face.

"Yeah," said Puck, his voice low. "Too much."

"You don't have to worry," Finn said, one arm coming around Kurt to touch Puck's side.

Again, Puck was silent. They could all feel the weight of what he wasn't saying between them, heavy and threatening, like a thundercloud.

"Come on," Puck said at last, sighing heavily. "Pass me that book. I'll give it a shot. If I can't read about being a slut, what _can_ I read about?"

Kurt could only see Finn's face out of the corner of his eye, but he could tell he was as surprised as Kurt was. Puck had never taken a turn to read aloud with them. Sarah wandered out of the kitchen and sat silently in Finn's dad's chair, listening without a word as Puck stumbled through the first chapter. Nobody stopped or interrupted him, even when he laboriously worked through words like "gregarious" and "psychologically," or corrected any of his mistakes. Kurt noticed Carole and Burt listening from the hallway without comment.

"We are horny creatures," Puck read, soberly, "and the more sexually repressive a culture becomes, the more outrageous its covert sexual thoughts and behaviors will become." And then, later, "Perhaps if we were raised without shame and guilt about our desires, we might be freer people in more ways than simply the sexual."

"Amen," said Carole, and Kurt was not embarrassed to see his dad kiss her cheek.

* * *

><p>Usually when Puck woke in the middle of the night, everything was quiet, but tonight a voice woke him. It took him a moment to adjust from sleeping to waking before he could figure out who it was.<p>

Finn was sound asleep on one side of him, but Kurt was huddled on the edge of the guest room's double bed, stretching out his breaths into shuddering half-sobs in an effort to calm himself down. Puck remembered Kurt falling asleep in his arms last night, their bodies wound around each other like marsh grasses, and he didn't know how Kurt had managed to extract himself from Puck's grasp. He reached out for him now.

"Baby," he murmured, and Kurt turned wide, terrified eyes on him, shining white in the light from the window.

"Karofsky knows," he whispered, breathy and wholly certain.

"Knows what?" he said. He sat up and tried to tug Kurt back under the covers, into the range of the furnace of Finn, but he wasn't responding.

"Knows about us. Knows who we are to each other. Or, at least, that we're doing something together." Puck watched Kurt's lip trembling as he gazed across the dark room. He looked so helpless, sitting there alone, and Puck felt a sense of unease. Finn was strong like rocks, like tree trunks, like buildings, but Kurt was strong like wind, like sound, like the tide pulling on his heart. He didn't know exactly what to do with himself if Kurt wasn't able to be strong.

_Maybe I need to be strong for him,_ he thought, and he reached for Kurt and did what Finn had done so many times for him those past weeks, just grabbed him and wrestled him into his lap. "It's okay, baby," he tried, and the words felt new and rare on his lips. Maybe it was the cover of night, or maybe Kurt was still half-dreaming, but he folded into Puck's chest without hesitating, clenching his eyes tight and holding on. Puck made himself the container for Kurt's anguish, and Kurt filled it, tears squeezing out from under long lashes and making trails down his pale cheeks. Puck remembered taking care of Sarah, pretty much all her life, when she'd had a cut or when a friend had wronged her. He decided this wasn't all that different.

Kurt's fear didn't last long – the advantage of growing up with a father who loved you unconditionally, Puck guessed – and pretty soon he was sleeping again, tucked inside Puck's arms like they'd been made for him. Puck stood up, lifting him easily, and placed him in the bed next to Finn. He drew the covers up to Kurt's chin, then, as an afterthought, pulled Finn's arm around Kurt's waist. Kurt slept placidly through it all.

Puck put his nose in Kurt's hair and breathed out the notes of Kurt's melody, and Kurt shifted in his sleep, smiling faintly. It was still a shock to realize he loved Kurt just as much as he loved Sarah… but in a way, it was easier to love him. He didn't have any bad examples of how to have a boyfriend. He got to make it up, create it from whole cloth. _This is how it can be. How it should be._

He left them like that and stole downstairs for a 3am snack, a couple everything bars and a glass of milk, and sat in his boxers at Finn's dining room table, paging through the book about being a slut. He'd always felt pretty comfortable with sex, but after reading that book, for the first time in his life, he felt like someone _else_ might think it was okay, the way he was with people and sex and the kinky stuff and _everything._ It made him feel… well, he wasn't sure. Good, that was for sure. Proud, maybe. Hopeful, maybe, about the future, for himself and Finn and Kurt and what they might become.

He thought about the dream he'd had about her tonight, the blonde curly-haired girl, and how she'd crawled into _his_ lap to read a story, and the song he'd made up just for her. He wondered if he could remember it well enough to write it down. The fickle memory of dreams was already starting to fade. But he knew there'd probably be another dream of her tomorrow. They were happening almost every night now, like chapters in a book. He looked forward to sleep in a way he hadn't in years, because he knew he'd be able to see her.

Not for the first time, he wondered if he was really, truly going insane. _Falling in love with an imaginary, fictional child?_ It was ridiculous. But in the end it didn't seem to matter all that much. What mattered was what he'd done about it. She was his, now. He could only move forward holding onto that truth. _I'm a papa, for real. No imagination here – in five months, she'll be crying and pooping all over me. _It was a mark of his insanity that he could only look forward to this with anticipation.

He pulled out his phone from his backpack and sent a text to Quinn, figuring she'd get it in the morning: _thx for signing the papers._

But she was apparently awake, too, because she responded quickly: _You're a good guy, Puck. Don't screw this up. _Typical Quinn, sweet and sour. He didn't smile at her words. He knew how easy it would be to do just that. He didn't know if maybe he wasn't already doing it. He didn't know anything. He needed… he needed…

He needed Finn. And Finn wasn't going to be around for this.

So he had to find a way to do it without Finn. How was he going to manage that?

He had no fucking idea.

* * *

><p>Kurt was completely obsessed with finishing his American history paper in the morning, so when Puck asked him if he'd go over to his Ma's house to pick up some more of Puck's stuff, he suggested Finn might go instead. "I'd love to help, Noah," he said, pleadingly, "but if I don't get this done, I'm never going to forgive myself."<p>

"Sure, I'll go," Finn offered, and Puck gave him a grateful smile.

"I don't get it," Puck said quietly to Finn. "He's got an A in the class already. If he's late with one paper, it's not going to affect his grades all that much. Why's he freaking out about it?"

Finn's lips twitched. "Kurt wants to do the best he can, all the time. If he doesn't, he feels bad."

"But it's not his fault," Puck protested. "He didn't make Karofsky dump his fucking bag in the john. Seems like he could give himself a break."

"Do you? When it matters, I mean?" Finn thought as he pulled on his coat. "Like, when you cook. If you can't do it as well as you know you can, is it good enough for you? Even if it's something out of your control, like – the microwave blows up or something?"

"Well, no." He gave Finn an offended look. "Dude. I don't use the fucking microwave."

"Sorry," he grinned. "So what do you want me to pick up?"

Puck lost his smile as he tried to remember the state of his room, the pieces of his life he'd left behind when his mom had kicked him out. "Whatever. Oh, there's a box of music in the back of my closet – it should have my dad's name on it."

"What's your dad's name?"

"Aaron," Puck said. "Same as my middle name. You can just bring whatever you find – I'll sort through it." He suddenly looked embarrassed, glancing around, and leaned in to give Finn a quick kiss. "Thanks."

Finn blinked, oddly touched by Puck's gesture. Then he seized Puck's shirt and hauled their faces back together, and the quick kiss became a heart-thumping, brain-numbing makeout session in Finn's foyer.

"Um," Puck said, a little unsteadily, after Finn let him go.

"Glad I can help," Finn replied. "I know this really sucks for you, this thing with your mom. Staying in our guest room? Not really a good long-term solution. I don't know exactly what we're going to do. But…" Finn touched his neck, feeling the tension. "I… _love_… having you in my house."

Puck stared at the floor, blinking rapidly. "Finn," he said, then stopped.

"It's okay," Finn said. "You don't have to have a response. I just wanted you to know."

"No." He could hear the ache in his voice. "It's… something else."

Finn knew it had been coming, and he tried to prepare himself for whatever Puck was about to tell him. "What?"

But Puck didn't respond, and after a long minute, he just shook his head, withdrew from Finn's hold and walked away, leaving Finn alone in the hallway.

* * *

><p>Timothy met him at the door. "You look terrible, man," Finn said, stepping through to the foyer.<p>

"Yeah, well, Ma's a bitch even when she's not psycho," he said testily. "I wasn't really planning to stick around this long, but after the thing with Sarah…" He ran a hand through his wispy curls. "She still needs someone to watch her. Come on in. Let me get you something to drink."

"I'm just picking a few things up," Finn said, but he followed Timothy into the kitchen. It looked just as he'd remembered, but without Sarah and Puck, the house felt empty. "Is she here?" he added, feeling nervous.

"She's sleeping," he said. The circles under his eyes didn't detract from his handsome features; if anything, he looked more brooding and emo than ever. Finn could see Puck in him, and Sarah, and Puck's Ma, and someone else, too.

"Your dad," Finn said. "Aaron?"

Timothy stiffened at the name, but he nodded, pouring a glass of water. "What about him?" He passed the glass to Finn.

Finn hesitated. "Puck doesn't talk about him. Like, at all. But he still has dreams about him, I think, most nights. He gets up in the middle of the night with dreams. Sometimes he remembers them and other times…" Finn closed his eyes, feeling troubled. "It's bad, man. He's hurting. I wish I knew what I could do to help."

Timothy nodded again, letting his gaze wander over the table, across the room, his memory elsewhere. "Do you want me to tell you about him?"

"If it's not too awful," Finn said. "I mean, for you to think about it."

"It wasn't all awful. He was a good guy, sometimes. It's just that we never knew when he would be one way or… another." He leaned on the counter, his lip twitching. "He had a great sense of humor. He loved to play with us, all the kids – he'd come up with these amazing things sometimes, like putting on a puppet show, or making a go-cart out of wooden crates. You could tell he really wanted to do those things, too; he wasn't just pretending to enjoy them just because dads were supposed to do them – he loved spending time with us.

"But he was forgetful." Finn saw Timothy's jaw tighten. "He'd plan a special thing and then not show up. This happened a lot. And when Ma would try to remind him, he'd – kind of blow up about it. Then there was hitting. That mostly happened when he was drinking. The guilt and the hitting seemed to go hand in hand – so we'd get a strange combination of apologies and beatings. I think that really messed with Noah's head."

"Maybe," Finn said. He felt a strange tension inside, a thread of uncertainty he hadn't felt until now. _God. Maybe… this thing we do. Maybe it's not so good for him. Maybe – maybe he just wants it because of his dad. _The panic welled up, almost overwhelming in its intensity, and he had to move, walking across the room to stand by the wall.

"How's Sarah doing?" he had to ask, to change the subject, and Timothy seemed to understand.

"She's okay. She doesn't talk much to me, but when she does, we get along. She's trying hard to avoid Ma, though, and it pisses Ma off." He laughed. "She's got quite a thing for you."

Finn smiled despite himself. "She's, like, the best little sister."

"She can be, and she can also be a devious little shit, just like Noah." The affection in his voice was clear, and it tamed the sting of his words.

"I miss her," Finn said. "Tell her I said hi, and we wanted to invite you two over for dinner tonight at Kurt's house, if you want to come."

Timothy hesitated, but said, "Yeah, that'd be nice, thanks."

"And anybody… else you might want to invite?" Finn suggested.

"It's just me right now, Finn," Timothy said, "but thanks."

Finn found the box of music in Puck's closet right away, but he spent a few more minutes prowling around his room, looking for anything else that might be important to Puck, something he wouldn't have thought about. He found some candle stubs and withered rose petals from a few weeks back – it was hard to believe it had only been a few weeks – and a bottle of lube on the bedside table, which Finn pocketed.

It was hard to believe he and Puck might never be together in this room again, after over eight years of sleepovers and hanging out. It was even harder to imagine what might happen next, where Puck might live in a month, where he could fit into Finn's life, and Kurt's, and what would happen to Sarah. He wondered what Puck's Ma was doing, or not doing, to sustain their relationship. She'd basically told him he wasn't welcome at their house anymore, and Finn felt a roiling, intense anger toward her for doing that to Puck. _Well, it's up to me, now, to fix this,_ he thought, heading back downstairs with the dusty box. _I need to find a way._


	8. Chapter 8

_(Author's note: Okay, I just have to mention this here, because it'll be a while before the story surfaces, but I'm writing a Donutverse chapter with Puck/Adam Lambert. No, really. The prompt came from a reader who wanted smut, but I have no capacity for smut without plot, so I worked it into the Donutverse, and I am here to stand up and say ADAM LAMBERT has TAKEN OVER MY LIFE. Holy shit, is he talented. In much the same way that Lady Gaga snuck up on me and hit me with the big awesome stick, I am now a sincere devotee of Lambert, and feeling like a super pervy old lady for it. The story is much plottier than I ever expected; I've written over 8k words and they haven't even kissed yet._

_Okay. That's all for now. We return you to your regularly scheduled Archer's Hand chapter, with plenty of Sarah, Lady Gaga, food, angsty, lying Puck, and lovely Kurt/Puck sex. Enjoy. -amy)_

* * *

><p>Sarah kept the DVD in her backpack until they got into Kurt's house, but then she couldn't resist pulling it out and waving it around under anyone's nose who would pay attention. As it happened, nobody cared about the words <em>Lady Gaga<em> and _concept videos_ except for Kurt, and Timmy had something better for him. _He's going to totally freak out,_ she thought, and quivered in anticipation.

Mr. Hummel gave her the nicest hug while Timmy went into the kitchen to bring Noah the baked beans (it was the only thing Noah had allowed them to bring, and only then because he _knew_ Sarah could make baked beans just fine). "It's good to see you, Sarah," he said, and his eyes were anxious. "How're things at… your house?"

"Boring," she said. "I wish I could come back here. That was way more interesting. Plus Timmy sleeps _all night._ Nobody's up at night except Ma, and she just wants to complain about work and tell me how deviant Noah is."

Mr. Hummel's lips tightened at the word _deviant._ "You know we don't agree with your mother about that," he said.

"I know," she said. "I totally don't either. Nothing so awesome as Noah and Kurt could possibly be deviant. They're completely in love with each other."

Mr. Hummel turned red at that, which Sarah didn't get. He seemed way more embarrassed by love than a grownup should be. Grownups had lots more experience with love than kids, just by nature of being older, right? Plus, this was _Kurt._ Burt loved him more than anything, which meant he wanted Kurt to be happy.

"You think so?" Burt said quietly. They both watched Kurt and Noah, setting the table, Noah directing and Kurt watching him, listening, paying attention to the way he moved, and smiling faintly through the whole thing. At one point Noah stopped with his hand on Kurt's waist, and leaned over his shoulder from behind – they were only a few inches different in height, which was probably nice for Noah, who was resigned to being short – and Kurt looked up at him, their faces just inches from each other. The expression on Kurt's face was one of absolute trust and appreciation, and Noah – well, he was being his usual cocky self, but Sarah knew without a doubt what he was _really_ feeling. She knew him better than he knew himself, most of the time.

"Uh, _yeah,"_ she said, with contempt, and Mr. Hummel snorted a laugh.

"You're something else, kiddo." He put a hand on her shoulder, and she looked at him in surprise.

"Noah's never been as happy as he is now," she said. "It's because of Kurt, partly, and because of Finn, partly. And something else, something about how he is with them. I don't really understand it, but I know it's there. Right? I mean, you see it, too?"

"Um," he said. He squinted at the dining room, then back to Sarah, and smiled. "I think so. I'm not sure… but I think so."

Sarah liked the way Mr. Hummel worked hard to say the truth, even when it wasn't simple. Kurt did that, too. It was nice to count on them to say real things, when so many things in the world were fake. She slipped her hand in his, on an impulse, and gave it a squeeze. His smile warmed her from the inside out.

Timmy brought out the baked beans, wearing big potholders and one of Noah's ridiculous aprons. This one said "Manliest man among men," which didn't even make _sense._ "Did you tell him?" he said quietly, leaning in as he passed Sarah.

"I'm waiting until dinner," she replied. "He's never going to believe it without the audio."

Carole brought out bottles of beer for the grownups, laughing at something Finn was saying, and she watched Mr. Hummel's eyes go soft as he watched her, much the way Noah's had. _Yep, plenty of love going on here,_ she thought with satisfaction. It gave her a wonderful sense of rightness to be in the midst of it.

Noah had made beer brats to go with the baked beans, and chopped cabbage, and his amazing mashed potatoes which she knew were made with about a pound of butter. The quiet sound of chewing made it clear that everyone was enjoying their efforts, but even before Finn took seconds, Sarah couldn't hold her tongue any longer.

"There's a message for you, Kurt," she said, all in a rush.

"Oh?" He looked quizzical.

She nodded at Timmy, who pulled out his phone with a grin. "It's on Timmy's voice mail."

Kurt glanced at Finn, who shrugged, and Noah, who gave Sarah a suspicious look. "It's good," she qualified. "Really."

"Okay," Kurt said, leaning forward, listening. The expression on his face when the voice began to speak was priceless: startled, then disbelieving, followed by clutching, squeeing glee.

"_Hey, Timothy, it's Mother Monster… I just heard the recording those highschool kids did of Hair, and I can't tell you how excited I'm feeling. God, it's like a different song – the drums and the backup vocals and all of it. I'm so inspired by the work they did; it's definitely going to change the way we record when things happen for the new album. I hope you can get this message to the amazing kids who put it all together. They're all invited to Bel-Air; I especially want to pick the brain of the one who did those keyboard tracks. They're genius. Let me know when you can come out, when your mother's doing better. Hugs."_

"Kurt…" Mr. Hummel said warningly, in response to Kurt's big-eyed pleading gaze.

"Dad," he gasped, "that was… a _personal invitation_ from _Lady Gaga._ To visit her _house."_

Mr. Hummel took off his baseball cap and leaned his head forward into his hand. "Great," he sighed heavily. "Just what every teenager needs."

"She wants to talk to Brad," Finn pointed out, looking remarkably calm. "If he came along, there'd be a grownup there, too."

"You're making some big assumptions, Finn," Carole said, but she was smiling at Kurt. "This is a huge deal."

"Yes," Kurt emphasized, placing both palms on the table. As Sarah expected, his dinner was forgotten. "A _huge_ deal. This is an opportunity – I could make connections, maybe get my foot in the door with her record label… I don't have anything to bring! Oh, God, I don't have anything to _wear!"_

"Hold your horses," Burt said, holding up his hands. "I haven't made any decisions yet. We need to talk about this, Kurt."

Sarah watched the heated interchange with interest. It was amazing how _civil_ they were about arguing. Nobody was yelling or swearing, or threatening bodily harm. There weren't any cutting remarks or mean words of any kind. It was a little puzzling.

"How do they know who wins?" she whispered to Noah.

"Nobody wins," he whispered back, soberly. "They keep talking until everybody gets heard, and then they make a decision together."

Sarah wrinkled her brow. "That's really weird."

"I know." Noah shrugged. "But they like it."

Timmy cleared his throat, and suggested, "I'm happy to, er, chaperone. Gaga hosts artists at her house in New York all the time, and I went out a half a dozen times last time we were working on an album. I haven't been to the new place in Bel-Air but I'm willing to bet we could make a perfectly respectable trip of it."

Mr. Hummel shook his head. "It's nice of you to offer, Timothy, but from my advanced age, you don't look so much older than my son here. I think I'm going to need to talk to Brad and find out if he's willing to go and help out – or, hey, maybe I could go myself."

Sarah knew Kurt's quietly horrified expression didn't have anything to do with how cool his dad was. It was just the idea of your parent coming along on a trip like _that_ – it was just a little too much to contemplate. "I'll talk to him at school tomorrow, okay?" he said hurriedly.

Dessert was Noah's everything bars with ice cream on the side. "I like to dip them in honey," Sarah said, "but ice cream is good too."

"You are definitely impacting my diet," Kurt (who did not look one pound heavier) said to Noah with severity, who just grinned cheekily and offered Kurt a bite of ice cream. Finn took four of the everything bars and sat, pleased as punch, between the two of them on the couch while they squabbled over which movie to watch.

"I think Finn is happiest when Noah and Kurt are arguing," Sarah said to Carole as they cleared the table. "I totally don't get that."

Carole gave her a funny smile. "It's not the arguing," she said, stacking the dishes in the sink. "It's that he loves how comfortable they are with each other. Finn has always been most happy when things are ordinary, routine. Finn and Puck, they've known each other so long, and Finn and Kurt have spent almost every day together for the past two months… but Kurt and Puck, they've only been friends for a few weeks."

"But they're so in love," Sarah said, wistfully. Carole nodded agreement.

"But a relationship is about more than love," she pointed out. "It's about all the little things you take for granted about the other person. Puck and Kurt are only just discovering those things about each other. They're settling in. I think Finn appreciates seeing the little things surface." She shook her head. "It's still pretty amazing to me, that they don't have jealousy about the other two, but it does seem that they've avoided all that."

Timmy was listening, stacking the dessert plates. "When Noah was little," he spoke up, "we used to have Date Night with Ma. She'd take each of us out once a week. My night was Thursday; Noah was on Monday. When Sarah got old enough, she got Tuesday. We got to do just about anything we wanted – it was mostly things like a hamburger at McDonalds or a trip to the library, sometimes a movie. I remember I used to get really jealous of the stuff that Noah and Ma would do – it always seemed way better than the stuff we did together. But Noah never got jealous."

"I remember that," Sarah said, grinning. "Why did we stop doing Date Night?"

"Because after Dad left, Ma didn't have anybody to leave the rest of us with anymore," Timmy said quietly. He dropped the dishes into the soapy water with a _plop._ "Later on, I was old enough to help out, but I was too pissed off to babysit most nights."

"We should totally do that," Sarah said, grabbing Carole's arm, and Carole looked quietly pleased. "I want a Date Night with you, and one with Mr. Hummel."

Mr. Hummel glanced at Carole and grinned. "Sarah, you really need to start calling me something other than Mr. Hummel."

"I'm waiting," she said.

"For what?"

"For when I get to call you the right something." She shrugged. "I know it'll take a little time, but someday – those people at Social Services will figure it out. Until then, I'll stick with Mr. Hummel, if you don't mind."

Sarah hugged him when it looked like he might cry, but he didn't; he just grabbed her tight and pressed his hand to her head, holding her close. His chest was warm. It didn't feel exactly the same as being hugged by Noah, but it was pretty damn close.

"That's fine," he said gruffly.

"Could I get a Date Night with Noah, and Finn, and Kurt, too?" she said, starting to get excited, but Carole laughed.

"I don't think you can schedule high school kids without their input. My guess is, between the three of them, they're probably pretty busy. But –"

"Date night," said Finn, from the doorway. "Huh. That sounds perfect." He got a faraway look on his face and began to count on his fingers. "One night for Puck… one for Kurt… one for the three of us… one for Sarah… that leaves three more nights."

"One for all of us," Sarah prompted. "All the parents and the kids together. You, too, Timmy."

"Uh," Timmy said, looking startled. "I guess."

"Then other two nights can be, just, whatever," Finn continued. His smile was brilliant, and Sarah totally didn't understand how anybody couldn't think he was less than _awesome_ when he smiled like that.

But when Mr. Hummel and Carole went back in the dining room, Timmy cornered her with an aggravated look. "Sarah," he said fiercely. "What are you doing, here?"

"What do you mean?"

He scowled at her. "You've _got_ a family. I know we're not always as cool as Burt and Carole, but – we're _really_ yours. Me, and Ma, and Noah."

"And fricking Dad too?" Sarah rolled her eyes. "I'm not trying to replace anybody. But god, if I _could_ replace Dad with Mr. Hummel, you can _bet_ I'd do it. In a second. And Ma, she's doing her damnest to cut Noah out of her life completely. I'm not going to stick around to see _that_ happen."

"Don't do that, Sarah," he said, and she couldn't believe it – calm, impassive Timmy was practically begging. "Trust me. It's the wrong thing – I regret walking away every day. Even though I know in a lot of ways I'm a much happier person for leaving when I did, I never got to resolve my issues with Dad, because he took off… or with Ma, because I did." He sighed. "I'm getting to work through them now, with her… God, all this time I'm spending with her, it's like I have no fucking _choice. _But it's not the same. You _can_ figure it out."

"What if I don't want to?" Sarah shot back, fists clenched at her side. "Timmy… I don't think I realized it until I got a chance to live a different way, but… this year, especially, I was taking care of her. Like, _all the time._ Now she's got you doing it. It's like she sucks you into the job, whether you want to or not." She made herself relax her hands. "I don't _want_ to be the mommy; I don't _want_ to clean up her messes and manage her appointments and cook dinner. _I_ want someone to take care of _me."_ She looked up at Timmy, pleading. "Tell me it's wrong for an eleven-year-old to want that."

"It's not wrong," Timmy agreed, gently clasping her shoulders, and sighed. "You're right. You've got every right to walk away. It's just... I don't want you to make the same mistake I did, and then wish you had stuck around, without having a chance to make things better."

Sarah shook her head slowly. "I don't think_ I_ have to be the one to make things better, when _she's_ the one who told Noah not to come home because of who he was in _love_ with." She didn't need to hide the disgust in her voice. "How do you put up with that? How do _you_?"

He had no answer for that, and Sarah just flung her arms around him and squeezed him tight. "There's nothing wrong with you," she whispered, and he chuckled.

"I know that," he murmured. "I guess that's why I can do it. It doesn't matter what she says about gay people; she can't hurt me with what she says or thinks. They're just meaningless words." She felt a kiss to her hair. "But thanks for taking care of me, little sis."

They left the dishes in the sink to soak. The three boys were on the couch in their customary spots, watching _Once, _one of Kurt's more obscure musicals ("Glen Hansard is _really _an Irish rock musician – you can't get any hotter than that," Kurt said passionately), and Mr. Hummel and Carole were working on a puzzle upstairs in the dining room. "We're trying to give them some time alone," Carole said, but Sarah knew what was really going on, and she nudged Timmy, who got it.

"We're going to head home," he said. "Let me know if I can pass any word back to Lady Gaga about visiting. Knowing her, she's going to keep pestering me about it until I give her an answer."

"Thanks for coming for dinner," Mr. Hummel said, smiling at Sarah. She smiled back and waved. Then, to Timmy, he added, "We'll, uh, we'll let you know if we learn anything new this week. You should be getting a call soon to schedule a home visit."

Timmy nodded soberly. "We'll be ready."

As they climbed down the steps from the front porch, Timmy turned to her with a curious question in his eyes. "Noah's not the only one who's in love here."

She shrugged, feeling her face burn in the cool of the November night. _"They're_ not making me choose," she said. "I get to have them all."

He took her hand and sighed. "I guess I can't object to _more_ love, can I?"

She squeezed his hand. "Not unless you're more selfish than I thought you were."

* * *

><p>"I told Dad and Carole we would make an early evening of it," Kurt said, shutting his bedroom door behind him and sighing. "I think as long as we stay downstairs, they won't bother us, but it shouldn't go too late. They're giving each other <em>those<em> looks, and I didn't want to be around to watch them feeling guilty about not doing stuff."

"Why are they feeling guilty?" Finn asked, taking Kurt's hand. "They're adults. Don't they get to do what they want?"

"My dad said they were slowing down. Whatever that means." He shook his head and grimaced. "Don't make me think too hard about it."

"Baby…" Kurt sensed himself relaxing and attuning to Finn at the sound of that word, hearing his heartbeat, feeling the touch of his fingers on his palm. "They'll figure it out."

"What about us?" Kurt listened to the sound of the shower shutting off in the bathroom next door, and stepped into the circle of Finn's arms. "Are we figuring it out?"

Finn wrapped him up tight. Kurt loved how Finn never worried about crushing him, or worried he was squeezing too hard. It was just right. "Yeah. Of course, we are. Sometimes it's just going to feel… easier than other times."

Then, before he knew it, Finn was kissing him, deep and insistent, and he responded without even thinking about it, letting Finn carry the kiss until he was breathless and standing on his toes. "Finn," he gasped.

"Puck's keeping something from me," he said, into Kurt's mouth. "He won't tell me. I've tried, but he's not talking. I thought – maybe he would tell you. Can you try to… to help him figure it out?"

"Of course," Kurt said, before he thought about it, but then he realized what Finn was saying. "You mean…?"

"Whatever works," Finn said grimly. "I'm trying not to be angry about it, but I don't like the lies. He's got to tell one of us, or I'm not sure what I'm going to do."

Kurt nodded, knitting his brow, his mind already racing. "I'll do my best."

"You always do." Finn gave him a quick hug and released him. "It's one of the things I admire most about you. I'm going to head home. Tell Puck I had a headache or something."

"Yes, sir," Kurt murmured, but it was mostly in an attempt to break the tension. Finn's smile was watery. "I love you," he added.

Now the smile softened and became more genuine. "Baby," he whispered. "Look at what we have. This family, all of us together – we're so lucky. I feel so incredibly lucky to have both of you."

"I'm not too much trouble?" Kurt heard himself asking, and it sounded somewhat anxious. Finn shook his head, smiling.

"Not even a little bit," he insisted. "Those jerks at school, the business with the locker - we're going to take care of it. I promise."

The door opened, and Puck stepped out in a towel, looking hot and steamy in more than one way. Kurt saw Finn's eyes darken as they both watched him get his toothbrush out from the drawer in Kurt's bathroom. Finally, he noticed the two pairs of eyes on him, and he paused, mid-brush. "Wha?" he said around the toothpaste.

"I was just thinking how incredible it feels to have _you_ keeping a toothbrush in my drawer," Kurt smiled.

"_I_ was wondering why you felt a need to wear a towel in Kurt's house when it's just the three of us together," Finn said, his voice mild. Puck glanced down at the towel as though he'd just realized he was wearing it, and, with a wicked grin, let it slide to the floor. Now he was posing, cocking his hip for maximum effect, and Finn sighed. Kurt couldn't tell if it was in appreciation or exasperation. _Could be both._

"Timothy gave me an idea tonight," Finn said. "Tell me what you think about this. We need more time together, each of us, in pairs. More time to get to know each other, eat dinner, just relax, have fun."

"Are you talking about… a date?" Kurt said, and Puck laughed.

"Yeah," Finn agreed. "That's right. We each need a date. But – we're best when it's the three of us. So I was thinking, maybe the third person, the person _not_ going on the date, can be the one to help plan it. To make it special for the other two, you know?"

"Dude," Puck said. "That's kind of awesome."

"Thanks," Finn grinned. "I mean, I guess it could totally backfire, but I think we know each other well enough to make some good guesses about what the other two would really like to do together. And if the two on the date hate it, I guess they can always ditch the plans and just hang out, or whatever. But it'll be special time, set aside for each of us."

"See, I knew there was a reason you were in charge," Puck said, and laughed again at Finn's expression. Kurt felt vague unease, and sighed to himself. _Noah. You're just a whole mess of trouble, aren't you?_

"So who goes first?" Kurt asked.

Finn considered. "I was thinking about me and Puck, maybe earlier this week, Tuesday? Then Thursday could be another pair – me and Kurt. Then, the two of you could go out Saturday. But, Tuesday – does that give you enough time to plan something, baby?"

Kurt smiled. "Consider it planned. I can't wait to come up with something for the two of you."

"Awesome," Puck repeated, and reached for Finn, pulling him into his naked hips. Finn let him slide his hands under his shirt, stroking his chest and back, and Kurt had the distinct pleasure of being a witness to their intense connection. _The quarterback and the tight end,_ he thought vaguely, as though in a dream – a pornographic dream. _Making out in my room. _ He bit back a moan as Finn's hand cupped Puck's jaw roughly, sliding around to the back of his neck and deepening their kiss, tongues touching.

Then they both looked at Kurt at the same time, two sets of eyes, one green, one brown. Puck licked his lips and leaned his head on Finn's, their arms around each other. Kurt laughed shakily and shook his head. "What?" Finn asked.

"You two," he said. "Do you have any idea how hot this is? On _my bed_? I could just sit over here and watch."

"Maybe another time," Finn grinned. "That could be part of _your_ date. Tonight, though – I hate to say this, but I think I should go to bed. I'm a little under the weather." He slid out from the half-embrace with Puck and kissed him quickly before doing the same for Kurt. "I'll see you guys at school tomorrow." He closed Kurt's door, and Puck and Kurt were alone.

"Is he okay?" Puck watching after him anxiously. "I didn't say anything?"

"He had… a headache," Kurt said faintly. Then, he brought Puck over to his bed and sat him down. "How are you feeling, sweetheart?"

"Fine," Puck said. Now he was watching Kurt. "I thought it was going to be the three of us tonight. Why did Finn go home?" He sounded worried. "I did something wrong, didn't I?"

Kurt scooted up on the bed and lay down, tugging Puck down next to him. "Come here. Let me hold you." His hands thrilled to the feeling of clean, smooth skin, but he sternly told himself to focus. _Not yet. Noah needs something else. _He cupped Puck in the spoon of his body, winding his arms around his chest, and felt Puck slowly relax.

Kurt spoke against his neck. "There's something you aren't telling Finn."

Immediately he was tense again. "I… "

"You don't have to lie to me, sweetheart."

He sounded absolutely miserable. "I think I do."

Kurt sighed and petted his chest and stomach with gentle hands. "What's this about?"

Puck was silent, shaking his head, and Kurt held him tighter. "What happened to my good boy?" he murmured, and Puck began to cry. They weren't the tears of release Kurt had become accustomed to hearing from Puck; they were controlled, almost silent tears, choking in his throat and knotting his gut.

"I've never been good, Kurt," he said, low and bitter, like he was tasting something bad in his mouth. "You think I'm good, but I'm just really fucking good at fooling you. I've fooled everyone."

"That's not true, sweetheart," Kurt protested.

"It is true," Puck snapped. "You have no idea the shit I've done. If you knew… there's no way you'd love me like _this."_

"That's not the way it works. It doesn't matter what you _do._ I just love you because you're you."

"Then you're a fucking idiot," he muttered, but there was no rancor in it. Kurt kissed his cheek, his neck, his ear, and felt Puck respond, turning his head, then rolling over to face Kurt with desperate heat. He gripped Kurt's shoulders and head, and Kurt felt like he was being devoured by Puck's fervor.

"What is it – what do you want?" Kurt gasped, as Puck's teeth met the skin of his neck.

Puck's answer was cryptic, but it made Kurt's heart twist. "I want Finn to tell me it's okay."

"Did you ask him if it was okay?"

He rolled over to straddle Kurt and gazed down at him in stony despair. "There's no point. We've talked about this before, and he's not listening to me. He doesn't think I can make a fucking decision on my own."

Kurt felt his control slipping away, under the force of Puck's anger and stubborn silence. "But he loves you like I do –"

"I don't want to talk about fucking _love_," Puck shouted, and Kurt had to shush him, imagining his father coming downstairs to investigate. He laid a hand over Puck's mouth, but Puck knocked it aside, and Kurt furrowed his brow in astonishment.

"_Noah Aaron Puckerman."_

Puck shrank back from the sound of his full name, and Kurt sat up, pressing his advantage. "You're making some pretty poor choices right now. It's no wonder Finn isn't listening to you. What do you expect when you talk to him like that – or to _me?"_

"I'm sorry," Puck said immediately, his face contrite and horrified. "Kurt, I'm sorry –"

"I know," Kurt said, taking Puck's hands. They sat on the bed, facing each other, and Puck was as conflicted as Kurt had ever seen him.

"Who's in charge?" he said.

"Finn," Puck said, and he sounded exactly like a pouty child. "And you."

"Then you need to listen to us. If you can't trust our decisions, this isn't going to work."

"I know," he sighed. "I just don't know what to do when I'm so convinced that he's wrong and I'm right. It's like – if he's wrong, then the whole _world_ is wrong, and I might as well not bother following _any_ rules."

Kurt had no answer for that, but it made sense, considering the way Puck had been behaving. "Are you going to listen to _me?"_

"Yes," said Puck, still pouting.

"And are you going to tell me what's bothering you?"

He closed his eyes, his face pained, and shook his head once. Kurt sighed.

"All right. Then it's bedtime for you." He reached up and pulled down the duvet to reveal straw-colored sheets.

Puck stared at him in confusion and disbelief. "Kurt, it's – eight-thirty."

"And you're being a stubborn little boy. Little boys have early bedtimes. Did you finish your homework?"

Puck's eyebrows were halfway up his forehead, and he looked like he wanted to respond to that, but he thought better of it and just shook his head. Kurt sighed. He dug in a drawer and pulled out a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

"Here. Put these on. You can work for twenty minutes before I'm tucking you in. No arguing."

Puck got dressed and took his puzzled, silent face with him out to the truck to get his backpack, but after that, he sat down right on the floor by the couch and got to work.

Kurt went upstairs cautiously, making lots of noise, and found his father and Carole on opposite sides of the table, looking far too red-faced for a jigsaw puzzle. "Everything okay, son?" Burt said, not looking him in the eye.

"Not really," he said. "I'm getting some warm milk."

While the pot was on the stove, Carole came into the kitchen and stood quietly by the door. "Can I help?"

"I got it," he said tersely. Then, before he could stop himself, he snapped, "Why is everybody keeping secrets around here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Noah won't tell me or Finn what's bothering him. And you and dad – Jesus, you're worse than us, and we're hormone-ridden teenagers. Plus you're terrible liars. I hate knowing you're trying to pretend things are one way, but they're really another." He glared at her. "Why don't you just tell us the truth? _We_ did."

Carole was taken aback, but she didn't respond right away. Kurt poured the milk into a mug and, as an afterthought, got the cinnamon out of the spice cupboard and added a sprinkle on top.

"You're right, Kurt," she said finally. "I think the reason we're not telling you the truth is because it's just as confusing for us. I haven't dated anybody since Finn was in middle school. I really… like your dad, but I feel like I'm making as many mistakes as I am doing things right." She sighed. "You think because we're grownups that we have all the answers, but we don't. Nobody does. We're making things up as we go, just like you are."

"Wait a minute." He stared at her, disbelieving. "Are you trying to tell me that I'm _never_ going to feel like more of a grownup than I do now? That I'm always going to wonder if… if I'm doing the right thing, and what the hell this is all about?"

Carole put a comforting hand on Kurt's back. "Uh-huh."

"Well, that _sucks,"_ Kurt said. Now _he_ sounded like the stubborn, pouty kid, but he didn't care.

"Yep," Carole agreed. "It does."

When Kurt came back downstairs, Puck was still working. "I finished my math," he said, looking up at Kurt from the floor by the couch. "And I'm almost done with my Spanish."

Kurt approached him slowly, trying not to spill the milk, but also because he was stunned at the change in Puck from fifteen minutes before. He was calm and focused on his task, and looked entirely content. _What happened?_ Kurt wanted to shriek, and shake Puck's shoulders, but of course, he couldn't.

"When you're done, drink this," he said instead. "My dad makes it for me when I wake up in the middle of the night. It'll help you sleep."

Puck sniffed appreciatively. "What's in it?"

"Placebo," Kurt said. "Finish up first."

Puck went back to work with renewed vigor and no complaints, and Kurt blinked. _Huh._ He sat on the couch behind Puck, proofreading his American history essay, and put a hand on Puck's back. He felt the rise and fall of Puck's breath, and the warmth of Puck's skin through his borrowed t-shirt. He felt his own breath slow and even out as the calm descended over him.

"Done," Puck murmured. He leaned his head back into Kurt's lap.

"There's my good boy," Kurt said, and Puck closed his eyes. Kurt leaned forward and kissed his temple, gently, and heard Puck humming. "What's that song?"

"Your song," Puck said, his eyes still closed.

Kurt swallowed on the sudden lump in his throat. "Play it for me?" he said, his voice hoarse.

Puck shook his head. "No words yet. And it's only half done. Soon, I promise."

Kurt leaned over Puck, picked up the cup of milk and placed it in his hands. Puck took a drink and made an approving noise. "Tastes like cinnamon."

"Just a little." He watched Puck's throat bobbing as he drank it down. "Let's get you tucked in before it takes effect. It always puts me right out."

Puck watched Kurt pack his backpack for Monday morning and set it on the couch, and did the same. Then Kurt led him back into his bedroom and slowly, almost meditatively, helped him out of his t-shirt and sweats. Puck crawled into Kurt's bed, under the sheets, and Kurt pulled the duvet up to his chin. Puck closed his eyes immediately and hummed again, this time in pleasure. "Your bed always feels so good."

"Better with me in it?" Kurt said, smiling.

Puck's eyes opened again, surprised. "Definitely," he breathed, and watched with clear appreciation as Kurt quickly stripped off his clothes and climbed in next to Puck. It was the sweetest sensation, Puck's warm skin on his, twined by legs and arms together, and Kurt just drank it in like a cup of warm milk. He couldn't imagine he'd ever tire of that feeling.

"Noah," he warned, as Puck's hand slipped between Kurt's legs and found his arousal, stroking him to full hardness in seconds. "I'm not going to take long."

"What turned you on?" Puck wanted to know, using his thumb in the way that he _knew_ Kurt loved especially. Kurt groaned into the hollow of Puck's throat, and felt his face flush hot.

"God – you, listening to me, being such a – a good boy, just doing what I asked, without arguing – that was the start. And then – the song – _oh."_ Kurt's voice climbed into the next octave as Puck worked a finger down along the contour of his ass. "Sweetheart," he whispered.

"It's been in my head for a while now," Puck said, rising up on his knees under the covers, rubbing his own hard cock on Kurt's leg. "I – I've got another part I want to write. For Finn."

"And one for you, I hope," Kurt said, interested. He spread his legs as Puck swung a knee over, and winced at the sensation of dry fingers coaxing him open. "Uhh… that's a little intense for me."

"Mmm," Puck agreed. "Me, too. Finn likes it, though."

"We haven't – done that," Kurt admitted, and Puck paused to stare down at him. "What?" he asked, uncomfortably.

"Dude," Puck said. "Why the hell not? Finn – he _loves_ that. Well, fingers, anyway, and…" He grinned at Kurt, and his tongue flickered out, running over his top lip for just a moment. Kurt heard himself make a noise, and his eyes closed involuntarily as he drove into Puck's hand with sudden, blistering desire. When he opened them again, Puck was watching him in delight.

"You want to see me do that to Finn?" he said, letting his voice go rough, and the image seared Kurt's brain and made him gasp and thrust faster.

"_Yes… _yes, god, yes," Kurt pleaded, as much to encourage Puck's hand as to respond to his question. "The two of you together – it's like the best fantasy _ever."_

"Never knew you were into football players," Puck teased. "Maybe we need to get the rest of the team over – _hey." _ Kurt couldn't get a real slap in under the covers, but he managed a self-respecting swat.

"Not particularly into football players," Kurt denied, his breath coming faster now, "but I'm _very_ into you. And Finn. And you and Finn. God."

"Well, you should definitely plan to get _into_ Finn. He could use a good fucking."

"_Noah!" _ Kurt would have sat up in shock if the very image hadn't been quite so… _compelling._

"Well, he'd love it," Puck affirmed, casually, as though he were talking about a song from Glee. "I'm sure of it."

Kurt let Puck's touch draw him back down to the bed, and let the possibility settle over him, tantalizing and a little dangerous, of himself, kneeling between Finn's long legs, while he – he shuddered again. "Well – why haven't _you_ done it?"

"Me?" Puck seemed puzzled. "With _Finn?"_

"You with Finn is so impossible?" Now the image shifted to accommodate _Puck_ kneeling there, and Finn's head thrown back, his back bent, his hips pumping, while Puck – "God," Kurt cried, and came into Puck's hand.

"Baby," Puck said, surprised, but, ever the gracious lover, he cleaned him up nicely so he wouldn't mess up the sheets. "I guess you liked that idea?"

"Yes," he said, lying back on the pillows, trying to calm his breathing. "Holy shit, yes."

"Hmm." Puck looked confused. "I… guess I never thought Finn would want that from me. Kind of not a very, uh, in-charge thing to do."

"Well, maybe if he _made_ you do it," Kurt suggested, then felt himself respond _very_ positively to that idea. "God," he said again.

"Do you… want to _make_ me do it to you?" Puck said, his eyebrows going up.

"Maybe?" Kurt said, sounding so small and uncertain that they both started laughing.

"Yeah, baby, way to be in charge," Puck snorted, and Kurt dissolved into giggles. He put his arms around Puck's broad back and held on as their laughter calmed.

"I love you," he said, making Puck sigh.

"Love you, too, baby." He yawned and stretched, and Kurt laughed again in surprise.

"I think that sleep might win out over sex tonight."

"Mmmmm," Puck protested, but it was weak. Kurt smiled, pressing him down into the mattress, and pulled the covers back sufficiently to make a space for himself between Puck's legs. "Uh –"

"Just relax," Kurt said softly. "Close your eyes. I won't be offended if you fall asleep."

Puck's quiet moans sounded like music to Kurt, and he thought about the song as he took Puck between his lips, going slow, taking his time, enjoying every moment of it. Puck's hips set the pace, and it was far hotter and sweeter than Kurt had expected. "Baby," he groaned, and before Kurt knew it, Puck was coming into his mouth. Kurt wasn't so good at this part, but he did his best to save his sheets from the wet spot, and he didn't miss too much. He used Puck's borrowed shirt to wipe up the rest.

"You're incredible," Kurt said, but Puck was already passed out on his pillow. Kurt glanced at the clock. It was just after 9, several hours earlier than Puck usually made it to bed. He chuckled and slid out of bed, pulling the sheets and duvet up to Puck's chin.

Wrapping himself in his favorite white fleece robe, he dialed Finn's number. "Hey," Finn said, sounding surprised. "Everything okay?"

"He's asleep," Kurt said, trying not to sound too smug. Finn laughed.

"Wore him out already? I guess it's not the first time."

"Actually, I put him to bed with warm milk," Kurt said, closing the door and coming out to the couch. "He wasn't listening to reason, so I went with an order, and he fell right into line. Did his homework and everything."

"No shit," Finn said, sounding impressed. "Did he talk to you?"

"Not yet, but I think he might, given a little more time. Maybe on our date this week." He stretched his toes out and yawned. "Jeez. I think I wore myself out."

"It's a lot of work to be in charge of him. I'm glad we're doing it together."

"Yeah?" Kurt was oddly touched by this statement. "It doesn't feel like I'm… you know, stepping on your toes or anything?"

"No, baby." Finn's voice was tender. "I love the way we are, together, the three of us. It's… it's just _all _so good."

"We missed you tonight," Kurt said, realizing how true it was.

"I missed you guys, too." Now he sounded sad. "I didn't really want to come home. It's hard being apart from you."

"Tomorrow," Kurt promised.

"I don't know, baby… if you can get him to talk to you, maybe it'd be better for you to stick just the two of you." He sighed. "He's not trusting me right now. I did something wrong, and I've got to figure out what it was."

"Well, _I _trust you," Kurt said. "And he loves you. It's going to be okay."

"You always make me feel okay," Finn said. "Thank you."

Kurt smiled. "What are you wearing tomorrow?"

"For what?"

"Finn. Really. School pictures? I had my outfit picked out weeks ago."

"Well, you would," he teased. "Okay, uh… what should I wear?"

"Blue," Kurt decided. "Something blue. And your letterman jacket." He closed his eyes, remembering the impact of Finn and Puck together. "Because, apparently, football players are just… _hot."_


	9. Chapter 9

_(Author's note: This is a crucial, pivotal chapter for two big reasons. One, part of today's scene was written by my fantastic Toby/Will cowriter knittycat99 - long before we started writing together. She sent it to me as a gift this summer, for me to do what I wanted with it, and it immediately became a seminal part of Puck's personality. "Could he really Top Kurt?" was the question I had to ask myself, and, while the answer back then (when I was still in the middle of Now and Then) was clearly NO, I wondered, "What would Puck need to be able to get to the point where he could?" My entire trajectory for Puck since then has been focused on getting him to this point. Now he's here, and it's been a hell of a ride. (And he's not done yet, as you know if you've seen the episode Sectionals.) So big, BIG thanks to knittycat99 for a wonderful angsty Kurt, and the Puck that loves him. _

_And two, the last scene of this chapter was also written this summer, the very first Toby/Will scene I ever wrote, which formed the basis for the entire story of Just That Side of True. We are duplicate-posting that one scene both here and in JTSoT today, so if you have been reading both, you'll see it repeated there, for continuity. I hope that you folks who are NOT reading Toby/Will yet will be intrigued by this snippet and take a chance on our star-crossed pairing, because they are just about the sweetest, most wonderful couple I've ever had the pleasure to write. You'll see lots more of Toby/Will here in the Donutverse, even after our stand-alone story about them is concluded._

_Several of the scenes herein are taken word-for-word from the show, because one of the points of this story is that it's all there, in subtext, and I haven't had to change hardly anything for it to be believable. If you're wondering what's going to happen next, just watch the show, and ache for Puck and Finn and Kurt and all their friends for the anguish they're about to go through. =( But also know I am a Hopeless Romantic, and it will all come out okay in the end._

_-amy_

* * *

><p>Monday morning was not generally Finn's favorite time of day, but this particular Monday was even more unpleasant than usual, because the first thing he saw when he walked into school was Kurt, covered with blue slushie, standing in the middle of the hallway. He knew without a doubt that Kurt's outfit was the very one he'd picked out weeks ago, the one he'd wanted to wear for school pictures. And it was Azimio holding the cup and laughing.<p>

He'd already been away from Kurt for too long. One entire night apparently was more than he could tolerate now, because he felt twitchy and out of sorts. Seeing him there, holding out his arms, outraged and dripping, made Finn so pissed he could hardly see straight, but all he could do was give him a sympathetic glance as he walked by in the hallway. On the other side of the hall, he caught sight of Puck, walking the opposite way; Puck couldn't even make eye contact with Kurt. He knew it was probably even harder for him, but that didn't make it any better.

"Poor Kurt," said Mike Chang, walking with Finn, glancing at him unhappily. "You think we should stop and help him?"

"He's got Mercedes and Tina for that," Finn said, looking away. "I… think it would just make him uncomfortable, you know. To have a guy helping."

"I guess," Mike said, shrugging. "Does it bother you? That Kurt's gay?"

"Bother me?" Finn echoed, looking obliquely at Mike. He seemed to be just asking a question, not implying anything, so Finn took it at face value. Mike was that kind of guy, anyway. "No, it doesn't bother me at all," he said truthfully.

"I figured you wouldn't be homophobic," Mike said, nodding. "You've always been cool, not picking on kids or making fun of them."

_Not always,_ Finn wanted to say, but he was too ashamed of that brief period when he was dumpstering kids like Kurt, so he just said, "Yeah."

Mike was still there when he saw Karofsky walking, sans Azimio, so he didn't call him out, but he did make eye contact with him and stare him down as they passed in the hallway – and Karofsky was the first to look away. He had to take a few deep breaths after that to steady himself. _Well,_ he thought. _That might mean something, or it might mean nothing. _He guessed they'd just have to wait and see.

But Kurt wasn't in first hour chemistry, and in the hallway, as Kurt was on his way to creative writing and Finn and Puck were making their way to Spanish, Finn witnessed the second slushie as though in slow-motion. This time it was Lipoff and some other guys from football, and he definitely heard the words "faggot" and "locker" as he made his way closer.

Kurt caught his eye through the red ice and sticky syrup, and gave him one shake of his head. Finn backed off immediately and redirected his course toward Spanish, but he barely noticed Rachel as she fell into step behind him.

"You are _perfect_ co-captain material," she said, her smile taking up her whole face. On any other day it would have made him smile back, but he didn't feel ready to take on even one more thing. "We are a great team. Take the Glee picture after school today with me."

"Not today, Rachel," he said, shaking his head. "Sorry."

"Glee club needs you, Finn," she declared.

"Look," he said, continuing down the hall, "I'm… I'm totally honored you asked me, but don't you think you should have picked someone who… cares more? Not that I don't, but I have football and friends and… stuff…" _Kurt matters a hell of a lot more than Glee club photos in the stupid yearbook, _he wanted to say.

But she wasn't giving up. "Glee club only started working after you joined, Finn. Face it, we wouldn't have all the cheerleaders and football players in the club if it wasn't for you."

"You know I love Glee club," he protested. "I just don't know why I have to represent it."

She caught up to him – _boy, she was fast, for being such a short girl –_ and stopped him in his tracks. "Because you're a _leader,_ Finn. And that's what leaders do. They stick their necks out for people that they care about."

Rachel was saying more, but Finn wasn't really paying attention to the rest, because what she'd already said was resonating, was actually _reverberating_ inside him, making him thrum to its rhythm. _She's right,_ he thought. _Kurt's getting hurt. Why aren't I leading?_

"I can't do this alone," she was saying, but he stopped her.

"You don't have to. I am a leader. It's who I am, who I want to be." He felt himself relax, and broke into a smile. "You got yourself a co-captain. I'll do the picture with you."

* * *

><p>"Puck," he heard, as he wandered into Spanish class five minutes late, and Puck looked up to see Mr. Schue behind his desk.<p>

"Yeah?"

Mr. Schue's face was concerned. "You're late. Is everything okay?"

"I'm usually late, Mr. Schue," he said, but he wasn't smiling, and Mr. Schue seemed to register this. He nodded slowly.

"Stay after class for a minute. I want to talk with you."

Spanish didn't hold his interest very well, but after Kurt had made him do last night's homework, he felt like he could participate better, and he even raised his hand to volunteer for a part in a conversation. Mr. Schue watched him with raised eyebrows, but made no comment other than a mild, "Bueno trabajo, Puck. Muy bien."

He waved Finn to go on to algebra without him. Finn wasn't looking so good either, but he didn't think he could deal with Finn's fucking angst on top of his own.

"How was your weekend?" Mr. Schue asked politely.

_Complicated. Hot. Confusing. _"Okay," Puck finally said, when he realized he was taking more than a few seconds to answer a question that should have, by all rights, have been an easy one. "How was your trip?"

Mr. Schue blinked. "Uh… it was fine, thanks."

_I bet,_ Puck thought, remembering some of the things Toby had said to Mr. Schue – _Will_ – in that letter. _I bet it was just fine. I bet we even did some of the same stuff this weekend. _"You wanted to see me?" he said.

"It's nothing bad," Mr. Schue assured him. "You just looked like you had something on your mind, and… I wanted to offer you a listening ear."

"You want me to talk to you?" Puck said, wrinkling his face.

Mr. Schue sighed. "I – I just realized I haven't been as supportive of… some of you kids as I could have been. I want you to know I'm here for you, if you need anything."

"I know," Puck said, though he didn't really at all. Then he thought about the way Mr. Schue and Brad had just _shown up_ to help find Sarah when she'd run off, not even questioning, and he added, "You're a great teacher, Mr. Schue. I know I can count on you."

"Thanks, Puck," Mr. Schue said. Puck's brow wrinkled again when he saw the tears in Mr. Schue's eyes.

"You okay, Mr. Schue?"

"Uh… yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Mr. Schue wiped the corners of his eyes and laughed a little. "You ever feel like maybe everything's changed, even though nothing has?"

"All the fucking time," Puck said fervently, and he heard Mr. Schue laugh again in surprise as he headed out the door.

* * *

><p>Finn couldn't find Kurt at lunch, so he went looking for him in the choir room, thinking he might have gone to tell Brad about the Lady Gaga news, but Brad hadn't seen him either. "What's this about Lady Gaga?" Brad said, curious.<p>

"I'm not sure if I should tell you myself," Finn said, "but… well, I guess Kurt wouldn't mind. I just don't know where he is…"

"You checked in the attic?"

"First thing," he agreed, "but it was empty. It's getting kind of cold up there. Do you think a space heater would be okay?"

"Lady Gaga," Brad prompted.

"Oh – yeah, right. Uh, she called Timothy, Puck's brother, and said she thought your Hair song was awesome, really fantastic. She said your keyboards were something… inspired, I think. Anyway, she wants you and Kurt to come out to her house in Bel-Air. Is that in California?"

"Yeah," Brad said faintly. "She – invited us to her house?"

"Yeah," Finn nodded. "But Kurt's dad said he could only go if you were going, like, if you would chaperone. Which is silly, because Kurt's pretty responsible, for a teenager. Well, there was that one time with the Pixy sticks and the glue, but it totally wasn't his fault."

Brad looked a little dumbstruck, but he managed to say, "You can tell Kurt's dad that I'd definitely be willing to chaperone. You guys all planning to go, or just Kurt?"

"I don't – I don't know," he admitted. "We hadn't gotten that far. I mean, I just did what Kurt told me to do. I wasn't any kind of creative part of this thing. I think it's just Kurt's. But – maybe. It'd be fun to go to California."

"Absolutely!" Brad's smile was big and excited, and Finn felt glad to be witnessing it.

"You've been really great to Kurt," he said. "Thank you for giving him someone to talk to. We're reading the book Laurie gave him. The one about being a slut."

Brad tipped his head and lowered his voice as some of the members of the jazz band came in and set up. "Oh, The Ethical Slut? Good book. Not exactly the way we practice polyamory, but it should give you all a place to start."

Then Rachel came in and grabbed him by the arm, and Brad slipped back into impassive silence. "Oh, there you are, Finn. Do you have some time before lunch is over?"

Finn glanced over his shoulder. "Uh, well, I was actually looking for –"

"I totally understand that as captain of the football team you've worked really hard to project an appearance of steely toughness," she said, walking him to the risers. "But Glee club is different. We have to present the appearance of positivity and optimism. So… we're going to practice, and I'm going to teach you how to smile correctly for your photo."

The song was fun, and Finn found himself relaxing, enjoying singing with Rachel – who, after all, was really a great performer – and forgetting the stress of the morning, just for a moment. Even Brad looked like he might be enjoying himself, and he was a pretty convincing grump most of the time. _Rachel was right,_ he thought, in the midst of their tickle fight. _Maybe I'm trying to be too tough with Puck. Maybe I just need to be more positive? _He wished he knew for sure.

* * *

><p>Monday was turning out to be another one of those days for Kurt. One of those three slushies before noon days, with a locker slam for good measure. Kurt watched Finn and Puck watching him, could see the pain in their eyes, but there was nothing they could do because after the third slushie the girls whisked him off to the bathroom, and by the time they were done helping him clean and change and he'd put his dirty clothes back into his locker, lunch was better than halfway over. Instead of yielding to the pull of the cafeteria, Kurt ducked out the side door near the gym and dialed his dad's cell phone.<p>

"Hey, kiddo. You okay?"

"I need the house tonight. _We_ need the house tonight. Please."

"I thought you guys were at Finn's tonight."

"We were. But Dad-"

"One of those days, huh?"

Kurt leaned his head against the cool cement of the wall and sighed. "You have no idea."

"Okay."

"Thanks, Dad."

"Yeah. Just-"

Kurt could hear a hint of apprehension in his dad's voice. "Be careful, I know."

When the call was done, Kurt closed his eyes and thought about the afternoon, about Glee and pictures and _everything_, and he couldn't deal. Not today. He texted Finn and Puck.

_Am OK, just need to leave. My house, after school. _

He gathered his things from his locker and sneaked out yet another side door to the parking lot and pulled out quickly, before anyone could notice he was gone.

* * *

><p>Puck read his text under the cafeteria table, and had to wait until the bell rang to even get close to Finn. He grabbed him by the sleeve of his shirt and pulled him into the alcove by the pop machines.<p>

"What's up with Kurt?"

"Huh?"

"Your phone, man. Did you get a text from him?"

Finn shook his head. "Left it in my locker."

"Well. Something's wrong." Puck opened his phone and turned it, and watched as Finn's face went white.

"Oh."

"Yeah, dude. _Oh._ We need to get over there."

Puck could see Finn come back to himself, because his eyes were gentle but steely. And his voice, when he spoke, was clear and calm.

"What did I tell you about making hasty decisions?"

Puck looks him in the eye. "I'm supposed to come to you and you'll tell me what the right thing is to do." He pauses, lowers his voice to a whisper so that nobody passing them in the hall can hear. "Sir."

"Good. Now. We need to go to class. Finish out the day. It's our last football practice of the season, you know. And _then_ we'll go to Kurt's house."

"What about your picture after school? With Rachel?"

"This is more important. She's the one who really wants it, anyway."

* * *

><p>Finn was just pulling off his football jersey after practice when Azimio and Karofsky tag-teamed him, laughing, as they scribbled on his face with black markers.<p>

"What the hell?" he spluttered.

"Hold still," Azimo cried, "we're practicing."

"Yeah, we want to deface that Glee club photo," Karofsky added, "and we don't want to mess up messing it up."

"Screw you, Karofsky," he shouted, shoving him back against the wall, and Karofsky's teasing smile slipped from his face. "I'm sick of you pulling people down."

"Hey, none of that kumba-yay-ya crap," Azimio said. "You know the system was put in place to keep order around here."

_The __system's not working anymore,_ Finn thought desperately, pushing them off him. _Not __when the chief bully turns out to be the one who's most in need of being taken care of. Not when the captain of the football team falls in love with the kicker _and _the tight end. Not when being in charge feels like the loneliest place in the world._

"Hey, how do you spell _loser?__"_ Karofsky said, pushing past Finn to give Azimio a high five. "I'm gonna write it on his forehead."

"Big ol' potato head," Azimio laughed. "Could write a whole fucking haiku on it."

_I__'__ve got to pull it together._ He gritted his teeth, leaning back on the lockers. _This __is for Kurt, now. _

* * *

><p>Kurt was curled up on the couch, trying to forget about the day, when he heard footsteps upstairs and then the door at the top of the basement stairs creaked open. Finn and Puck were practically falling over each other to get to him, still in their workout clothes, and he rose to meet them. The sweet relief of the feeling of them, surrounding him and holding him up, was what he'd been waiting for all afternoon.<p>

Finn's words were rough in his hair. "You ran away. Why didn't you just come to us?"

"If I had done that, I wouldn't have been able to hide any of this. I couldn't do that. I couldn't out us." There was more, but he let it go unsaid; they all knew what he took every day, and he loved that he never had to think about any of that with them. But he felt Finn's voice tighten before he heard it.

"You're not supposed to run away from us."

Kurt pulled away from their collective embrace and looked at Finn. "No, sir."

"I think you need a reminder."

"Yes, sir."

The heat in Finn's eyes as he nodded at Puck made Kurt shiver. He closed his eyes against the sensation of Puck's hands making quick work of his clothes, and felt himself being led back towards the couch. He liked it when Puck held him while he was being disciplined, like being in Puck's arms anchored him somehow, kept him from losing himself completely in the sensation of the slap of Finn's hand against his own warming flesh. When Finn was done, Kurt buried his head in Puck's chest and listened to both of them whispering _good __boy_ and _god, __so hot_ and _let __go, baby_. But he couldn't. Not yet.

* * *

><p>Puck lazed on the couch, listening to Kurt and Finn in the shower. There wasn't room for the three of them, or he'd be in there, too. He guessed they were lucky to be at Kurt's tonight, because Kurt had the biggest room and the biggest bed; he had plans for his baby, after Finn was done with him in the shower. He and Kurt were still learning about each other, but he knew that when Kurt was pulled into himself like he was after a day like today, it took a lot to bring him back.<p>

When they emerged, Kurt's eyes were still a little hollow, but at least the streaks of red and blue from the slushies were gone, and his skin was pink from the hot water. He looked delicious, and Puck couldn't help himself. He stood and pulled Kurt to him, kissing gently down his neck. Kurt leaned into his mouth and he could hear Kurt's breath hitch. _Oh,__yeah._

He continued, moving back up to capture Kurt's mouth with his as his hands swept gently up and down Kurt's arms. The kisses were deep, hungry, searching. _Needy_, Puck thought, as Kurt reached around and pulled Puck closer.

Puck was only vaguely aware that Finn was watching all of this from the bathroom door until he heard Finn's low moan echo in the quiet.

Puck pulled away, leaving Kurt gasping, and looked over at Finn. Seeking permission or approval, Puck wasn't sure, but he got it all the same in a wide-eyed nod.

He leaned back in and whispered in Kurt's ear. "You want me, baby?"

He didn't need to ask, because Kurt was incredibly hard already. He just liked hearing Kurt speak when he was aroused because the trembling in his voice went straight to Puck's cock.

"Yes." Kurt was gasping, seeking contact, and while Puck kind of liked the anticipation, that's not what Kurt needed today.

"Good. Because I'm going to fuck you. You want that?"

"Oh, _God_. Y-y-yes."

Puck smirked to himself and scraped his hands down Kurt's back as he kissed him hard. Kurt gasped again, and Puck was nearly done right then, but he could hear Finn's light laugh from the doorway, and the teasing tone of Finn's words: "Focus, Puck."

They all stopped, and laughed for a brief moment while Puck got himself back in the game, and then he was on Kurt before his heart could beat, backing them both up until Kurt was sitting on the side of the bed. He trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down Kurt's neck, his chest, flicking his tongue over Kurt's nipples and sucking at the hollow of his navel.

He paused, breathing in the moment, before taking Kurt's erection in his mouth. His baby was so ready, already hot and leaking. He would have loved to linger, to suck Kurt off and swallow every drop, but he also didn't want him to come yet. Instead, he used his tongue gently, licking from base to tip as he used his shoulders to push Kurt back against the mattress and opened his legs. He could feel Finn there, nearby, pressing lube into his hands, and Puck used first one, and then a second slick finger to loosen Kurt.

Kurt pressed down against his hand, into his mouth, and Puck could feel him getting close, so he pulled off, leaving Kurt writhing on the bed. Puck sat back on his heels, took the lube and the condom that Finn pulled out of Kurt's bedside table, and covered himself. He tried to get out of his head, because he wanted it to be hard and fast and deep, and it hadn't been like that between them before. So far, they'd just been slow and _gentle,_ if he had to pick a word - but this wasn't the day for any of that.

He leaned in again and thrust his tongue into Kurt's mouth. Kurt surged up to meet him, groaning. When he stopped to breathe, he spoke, low and hungry, into Kurt's ear. "Do you know how crazy you make me, baby? How hot you are? How much I fucking want you? I'm going to fuck you so hard, _so __hard_, and I'm going to make you come over and over and over again. Are you ready for that, baby?"

The only response he got was Kurt, stretching his legs and tipping his pelvis, seeking the contact Puck wouldn't give him. That was all the answer he needed. He rubbed more lube over his cock, into Kurt, and positioned himself and _pushed_. He felt Kurt tighten around him, and stopped, leaning in, and whispered again: "God, baby, you're so fucking gorgeous, and you're taking all of me, you know that?"

And then Kurt just fucking _opened_ for him, and he was buried balls-deep, and it felt incredible. He could feel Kurt trying to set the pace, slow like before, but Puck was having none of that. He pulled out all of a sudden, and Kurt's eyes flew open.

He looked at Kurt and growled. "On your knees."

"Fuck, _Noah_."

"On. Your. Knees."

Kurt complied, and Puck positioned him so that he was gripping the headboard. The angle wasn't great, but they'd manage. He didn't let Kurt get too comfortable before he thrust into him again, harder than before. There was no tightness now, not as Kurt rocked back into him, meeting his every movement. He wrapped one arm around Kurt's chest, pulling him back so they were entwined together. He covered Kurt's left hand where it clenched around the headboard with his own, and bit a trail of hard kisses along Kurt's shoulder.

He was just as needy as Kurt, now, just as hungry. He felt like he was losing his mind; the harder he moved, the more Kurt opened around him. He could feel his own orgasm curling in his abdomen, but he wanted to come _with_ Kurt, so he released Kurt's chest and reached down for Kurt's cock. He was harder than Puck thought was possible, and hot and wet. He slid his hand once, twice, and felt Kurt buck into the tightness of his fist.

Kurt was mewling tiny, exasperated breaths, and Puck was teetering on the edge himself, but he didn't lose it until Finn leaned in to Kurt and whispered, "Come for us, baby. Let it go."

Puck was a little surprised when Kurt came almost immediately, shooting into his hand. Puck was about two thrusts behind, and he buried himself deep and let Kurt's clenching around him pull his own orgasm out. It was blissful seconds of sweet release, and then they were collapsed around each other.

And Kurt was finally, _finally, _crying.

* * *

><p>"Toby, pick up. I'm – something happened. Toby." Will wiped his nose on his sleeve and tried to still the motion of his leg. "Toby, for God's sake, pick up –"<p>

He heard a click, and someone fumbling for the phone. "Will? Calm down." Those words coming from Toby's mouth didn't do much to help staunch his tears, but just hearing his voice, Will did suddenly feel a lot better. "Darlin', just breathe, okay?"

"It was all lies, Toby," he blurted. His mouth curled up in something like a smile, only it was horrible, it was the most horrible, awful grimace. He swallowed the bile in his throat. "Terri. She was lying to me. The baby – oh, God, Toby."

"Shh," Toby soothed. "You're not making any sense, Will. Whatever it is, it'll keep for two minutes. Tell me about your day."

"My day?" Will choked on the words, but he sent his mind back, beyond that horrific moment in the kitchen, when he'd been more angry than he'd ever felt – but Toby wanted to know about his _day._"Okay," he said, closing his eyes. "I… Figgins is making me pay for the Glee kids to have a picture taken for the yearbook."

"Why?" He could hear Annie whining in the background, and he imagined Toby walking through the dark house to the kitchen to fill up her water bowl.

"He says it costs too much. He wants to put advertising in instead." Will lay back on the naked mattress and stared up at the ceiling. "Rachel got Finn to agree to take a picture with her, as the group captains, but then he didn't show for the picture after school today. She was really hurt."

"You think Finn ditched her on purpose?" He heard Toby scoop some dog food for Annie and dump it into her bowl.

"You know if you feed her now, she's going to expect you to feed her every night at midnight," Will warned him.

"Darlin', she's got me wrapped around her little pinky claw already," Toby said, with a grin in his voice, and, incredibly, Will found himself grinning too. "I bet Finn had a reason for not doing that photo. From what you tell me about him, he seems like he's got a good head on his shoulders."

"He's scared," Will said. "The jocks are harassing him, calling him names. Because he's in Glee and football."

"Nothing changes, does it."

Will heard all the years of dealing with bullying in Toby's light, sweet voice, of being beat up and dumped in trash cans and probably worse things he'd never told Will. "I think it could," Will said, softly. "I think it could change."

"Because of teachers like you," he said, and Will felt a flush of shame beginning at his throat and rising over his face, like a wave.

"I could do more," he admitted, thinking of Puck today.

"You could," Toby agreed. "But what you do still makes a difference. Now, tell me. What's this about the baby?"

"Terri," Will said, and he burst into tears. The words flowed easily now, as he told Toby about the pregnancy pad, and the faked sonogram, and Quinn's pregnancy. "There was no baby," he said, leaning his head into his arm. "There _was_no baby, Toby. I'm not going to be a father. All that – it was all lies."

"It'll happen someday, Will." Toby sounded so calm, so loving, that Will felt like yelling at him. _As if Toby had done something wrong,_ he thought, and that immediately quelled any anger he was feeling toward him. If anyone _hadn't_done anything, it was Toby. Toby had always been the one to pull him back together when things went to shit.

"She was lying to me the whole time. She said – she said she could feel me pulling away, and this was her way to try to keep me."

"Her logic totally fails me there," Toby said dryly. "You think you were pulling away?"

"She said… our marriage works because I don't feel good about myself." The flush of shame was back, heating his forehead. He felt like he was about to set the mattress on fire.

"That Terri. She's an observant one." Toby sighed, quietly. "I'm sorry, darlin'."

"I really loved her," Will said.

"I know you did," Toby replied. "You did. A long time ago. Hell, we were just kids."

Will blew his nose and threw the tissue on the floor, by the risers. He'd pick it up in the morning before the kids arrived. "I know."

"I can't believe you're not a little bit relieved about this."

"Relieved?" Will sat up, incredulous. "How could I be relieved about it? My marriage is a wreck; we're in a mountain of debt; the baby girl I'd been preparing myself to take care of is just… a _figment _of my imagination… and now I'm sleeping on the floor of the choir room. I don't even know where I'm going to be living tomorrow."

"But it's all out in the open now," said Toby. Will heard him whistle for Annie, open the screen door, and shut it again. "The lies – isn't it better to have them done with?"

Will ran both hands through his hair. "They're not all done," he whispered. "You know it."

"That's always been up to you," Toby said. "You get to decide what to do about that."

He took a deep breath, sinking into the mattress. "You never give me the answers, Toby," said Will, pushing through the emotion to make his voice heard. "You just help me see the truth, and let me make up my own mind."

"Isn't that what good teachers do?" He was teasing him, but his words were solemn.

"Yeah," he said. "I guess they do."

"You got that red tie I gave you for Christmas last year?" Toby said.

Will rolled over to lie on his stomach, his head on one fist. "Sure," he said.

"You should wear that in the yearbook this year."

He laughed without humor. "I did," he said. "Terri said the same thing."

"It looks good on you."

"I love you," Will said, and bit his lip.

"Darlin'…" There was a pause, and then Toby's voice, like a silk robe around his shoulders. "It doesn't matter what happens with Terri, or anything else. I'll always be here. This is me talking, now."

"I know," he whispered.

"You know I'll always love you, Will."

"Yeah." The neck of his shirt was too tight, and he loosened a button. "I'd better go."

"You know things will look better in the morning. You crazy morning people." The affection in his voice was too much for Will to handle.

"Talk to you later, Toby." Will hung up before he could hear anything else, before Toby's voice could undo him any further. He lay on his side, clutching his phone to his chest, staring at the wall. He clenched his teeth together until his jaw hurt. He thought about Toby sitting at the table, petting Annie, rubbing her soft ears, about how he'd be going back to bed in a minute, and how he probably wasn't alone.

For a moment Will pretended he was lying in Toby's bed, on the right side, where he always slept when he stayed with him. He could smell Toby's scent on the covers. He could feel the warm spot at the foot of the bed where Annie had been, just moments before Toby had banished her to sleep under the kitchen table. He thought of Toby leaning over him, putting a kiss on his cheek, before stretching out to sleep on his back, one foot sticking out from under the blanket, the other foot tucked up against Will's leg. He knew if he reached out his hand, he'd be able to lay it right over Toby's heart and feel it beating.

_Good night, darlin'._

"Good night, Toby," he said, and closed his eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

_(Author's note: this first scene was cowritten with Flynn Anthony (flinchflower). It has a brief cameo by Sam and Dean from SPN, and a new appearance by an original character who features in several of Flynn's stories, Mistress Tess. We are currently writing an essentially original fic detailing the history between Tess (Major Tess Riordan) and Carl (Lieutenant Carl Jesse Howell). In the meantime, if you want to find out more about Tess, you can see Flynn's SPN stories at: http:/ archiveofourown. org /tags/Mistress%20Tess _

_Enjoy Puck and Finn's date night! -amy)_

* * *

><p>Finn thought there was nothing more awesome than watching Puck and Kurt snuggled up together in Kurt's bed, where he'd been so many times. It gave him a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he knew he'd never be able to express it in words, but it was safe, and comfortable. It was part of the feeling of <em>home.<em>

Puck's hand was tucked protectively around Kurt's shoulder, and Finn drew up the cover a little further to guard against the chill of the basement room before closing the door on them and coming out to sit on the green couch. He had a sense of unease that he hadn't been able to shake about Puck's conversation with Dr. Howell. The man Finn had spoken with, pleasant Carl, seemed completely at odds with Puck's experience. He wasn't sure what to do about it, but it didn't seem right. He sighed. It wasn't something he could talk about with his mom, or Burt. But maybe...

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed a number he'd inputted weeks before, when they'd had some unexpected house guests. Dean picked up almost immediately.

"Hey kid - Sam, can it. No, it's Finn."

"Uh, hi," Finn said, hesitating. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Nope," he said easily. "Sammy's researching; I'm cleaning weapons. Same ol' same ol."

Finn marveled at the idea that _cleaning __weapons_ would be part of an ordinary evening, but then, Sam and Dean were extraordinary brothers. "That's good. How's everything with you guys?"

"We're good, Finn. Just a family evening in, no big deal. Last hunt went fine."

"I'm glad to hear it," he said politely. "Um - there's something going on here that I'm having trouble figuring out. I was kind of hoping you'd know what to do."

"Which side of the fence, kiddo? Are we talking things that go bump in the night, or things that need a little leather applied to them?"

Finn felt himself go red, but he grinned as he replied, "Uh, more like the second one. Though we do sometimes go bump in the -"

"I got it, kid," Dean laughed. "I'm in safe company; what's up?"

He sighed, settling his gangly body into the crook of the green couch. "Do you remember that guy you told us about? Dr. Howell? We needed someone to talk to, about the, uh, leather stuff."

"Sure. How'd that go for you?"

"Well, I met with him first, and we had what I thought was a pretty good talk. I mean, he seemed nice and all, and he told me about... stuff." He rifled through the _stuff_ in his head. "Collars, and paddles, and... stuff like that. Anyway. I thought it went well. We're gonna go in tomorrow and talk with him, all three of us. But... well, something happened."

"That's not one of my favorite phrases, Finn," he said, sounding distinctly more alert than he had been thus far. "Define 'something' for me."

"Puck's got this lawyer... his name's Davis Lawton. He works with Carl... like, I'm not even sure how they work it exactly, but it seems they've got a room upstairs from their offices with... equipment in it. They see clients there." He felt his brow sweating, and he squeezed the bridge of his nose in anxiety.

"Sure. So far nothing odd about that. Get on with the 'something,' kid."

"Puck was there meeting with Davis, and he - I guess Carl came out of his office. Puck tried to talk to him. Maybe he said something wrong." _Knowing __Puck, he probably did._ "And Carl... I don't know, it sounded like he flipped out. I don't think he got mad, exactly, but he was pretty freaky to Puck. Made him, like, stand a certain way, and called him _it._ Like he was a thing. He said Puck was..." He swallowed shamefully at the thrill the idea gave him. "He said Puck was my property. Like, I owned him."

"Finn. The property thing... that's kind of common... when you say _made_ Puck stand a certain way-"

"Yeah, man, I guess he told him to hold his legs and head and stuff. A pose, I guess. I don't know; I wasn't there. Puck didn't seem upset by that, but - it felt kind of wrong to me, that he was touching him. I didn't like it."

"Touching - Jesus Fuck, Finn. Hang on a second - TESS!" Dean bellowed her name, and Finn could hear the sudden clamor of demanding voices in the background. "Finn. You were right to call - that's not kosher, kid. It's a huge breach of - ok. I want you to tell this to Tess, ok? She's right here with me, I'll hand the phone right to her - tell that to her just like you did with me."

_Mistress __Tess? _Finn recalled Angela's shocked, almost awed response when he mentioned her name, and he felt a chill. "Okay," he agreed.

"I'm right here; if you want me back on the line, just ask her... _politely_, ok?"

"Got it," he said. He heard the phone get passed, and Dean's muttering. He imagined Sam there, soothing him as Dean paced, and he grinned despite himself. The Winchester brothers had become good friends with Finn and his family over the past few weeks, and it was nice to hear Dean's voice again, even under such stressful circumstances.

"Hello, Finn, this is Tess," came a low, silky voice over the line. Finn gulped. "Tell me what's going on."

"It's - it's nice to meet you," Finn said. "Dean speaks very highly of you. Um... it's about my... friend, Puck."

"Dean reacted very strongly to the story you related to him. Why don't you start at the same point, Finn."

Finn explained the situation again to Tess, with careful attention to the details that had seemed to bother Dean. "I guess I was wondering if I should do something about it," he finished. "Puck's doing okay now, but he was pretty upset. I want - I don't know, I guess I want to do right by him, or something." He sighed. "Does that make sense?"

"That is very sensible of you, a commendable reaction, Finn." Her voice was somehow icier, and he shivered, despite the praise. "Now. This _is _Carl Howell, correct? I want you to go over Puck's interaction with him very carefully with me, with as many details as you are able to command, Finn."

"I don't think I know much more than I just told you," he admitted. "Puck didn't tell me much. He said Dr. Howell treated him like property and - he kind of liked it. But, I don't know, it didn't seem like he really did. I think he was bothered. _I _was bothered. I'm just not sure what I can say to Carl - Dr. Howell - like, what would be okay?"

"Finn," she said, very, very gently. "You are right to be bothered. Carl's actions and words are highly inappropriate. It's difficult to express just how terribly wrong and out of place Carl is in this situation. Finn, it would be my preference for you to say nothing to Carl for the moment. I've known Carl for a long time, and I'm very concerned about what you've told me. I intend to speak with Carl myself, and I will let you know when I've done so. Are you comfortable with that?"

"We have an appointment with him tomorrow," he said. "Do you think we should cancel it?"

"With your permission, I'll cancel it for you, and ask that his secretary contact you to reschedule for a few days from now. In the meantime, if the - situation - you are in requires attention, or advice, I know Dean is available to you. As am I," she added firmly. Finn could hear a startled murmur of voices.

Finn felt an overwhelming sense of relief, and he smiled into the phone. "I really appreciate it, ma'am," he said sincerely. "This is a little... new... for me, and I'm still figuring a lot of it out. It's good to have someone to talk to."

"That's a very sensible attitude. Finn, I'll be driving down to your area first thing tomorrow. If you'd like to meet with me in person, you're quite welcome, and if your boys have questions or concerns I'd be happy to address those as well. Dean and Sam and I have had many conversations in that vein over the years."

"That'd be so cool," he exclaimed. "I'm sure Puck'd be happy to make dinner for you, if you want to come to my house. He's an awesome cook."

She laughed gently. "That sounds wonderful. And I have a very insistent John Winchester next to me insisting that I'm not to drive myself, that he'll be happy to chauffeur for me - it seems he's spoken with Mr. Hummel, and would be eager to meet him."

Finn knew he wasn't the most observant guy, but even he appreciated her strategic offer of a valid excuse for inviting a complete stranger from out of state to supper. "That's great. Burt's a cool guy. Would you tell Dean thanks from me - oh, and my mom said he and Sam should come by the next time they're close to Lima." She'd liked Sam, Finn knew - and she was a little suspicious of Dean, but that was no wonder.

"I'll do that - your address?" she asked, and the conversation dwindled to minor polite details. Finn said goodnight to Tess, his mind far more at peace than it had been before their phone call. He suspected this was how Puck felt after being spanked.

It was early in the evening yet, but Finn stole back into Kurt's room, stripping off his clothes and climbing into the left side of the small bed. Somehow they managed to all fit, but it was good none of them were active sleepers. Finn sank into the warmth of Kurt's body and added his arm to the pile of them on top of the covers, sighing in guarded relief. It had been a long day - a long _week -_- and it was good to be going to sleep with a sense that things might somehow get easier tomorrow.

* * *

><p>Kurt began Tuesday morning with <em>two<em> extra sets of clothes in his freshly dry-cleaned messenger bag – and backup. "We'll be watching you all day," Finn said staunchly at breakfast. "Anyone gets near you with a slushie and we'll cut them off at the pass. You're_ not_ going to have another day like Monday."

"I still don't think it'd look very good for us if Karofsky noticed you paying attention to me," Kurt said. His dream from Sunday night was still fresh in his mind, and his nerves were on edge every time he remembered how their voices had sounded on Friday, jeering, as he'd been stuffed into the locker.

Finn bit into his bagel with a grim nod. "I got that. But if he already knows about us, he can't do any more damage by _knowing_ more. I don't think he's doing anything because he knows there's nothing else he _can_ do without evidence - or making a big stink. He's not willing to go for either one."

Kurt wasn't at all sure that was true. He remembered Karofsky's glare, the quiet menace in his words. "He scares me, Finn," he said, and leaned into his protective arm.

"I'm not going to let anybody hurt you," Finn said, his voice tight. "Forget the consequences to me. This has got to stop." Having Finn come to his defense made Kurt feel more anxious _and_ more safe, all at the same time, and he sighed, basking in Finn's love and care for just one more moment before heading off to school, to pretend for another six hours that he was alone.

But as it turned out, he wasn't. Upon entering the building, Mercedes gave Kurt the biggest, sweetest hug, accompanied by a double skim latte. "Tina and I have got things figured out," she said. "We're going to be your escorts, all day. Both of us have got our videophones. Anything goes down, they're gonna get caught on camera."

"Mercedes, I don't want you to get in trouble for using your phones at school, not on my account," he protested, but she raised her chin and shook her head firmly.

"This is bigger than you, Kurt," she said. "Nobody should get treated this way."

He sighed in acquiescence. "Finn essentially said the same thing. I'm not in any position to complain."

"Why the hell not?" she said. "You've got every right to expect a safe school."

"I'm not ready to change all of McKinley High with one flick of my wrist," he said uncomfortably. "I don't really _want_ to. I just want to live my life without other people butting in."

"Too bad it doesn't work that way." She cocked her head, her lips twisting. "Too bad we're part of a community and other people are in our lives."

Kurt couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah," he said. "Too bad."

His escort was gracious and vigilant, and he felt remarkably calm and safe under their fierce regard. "Could I ask you for some advice?" he said.

"Anything for you, Kurt," she said, smiling.

"Noah and Finn, they're supposed to have a date tonight… and I'm the date planner. Only yesterday was such a horrible day, I didn't get anything done that I'd originally hoped to do. I want them to have a perfect _boy_ date. They've been having trouble…" He looked away from her concerned eyes. "Well. That's their business. But I thought they should go do something fun, not too much work, and just relax."

Mercedes eyes were glittering. "I have the _perfect_ idea. My parents are going out tonight to a dinner party. They won't be back until really late. It sounds like Puck and Finn could use a dip in the hot tub."

Kurt's heart leapt, and he clapped his hands. "Oh – that _would_ be perfect! And dinner beforehand, at Breadstix…"

But Mercedes was shaking her head. "No, no. You said a _boy_ date. Send 'em for pizza. That's what they really want anyway. They'll love it."

Kurt gazed at Mercedes with admiration. "You can really think like a boy," he said, and she laughed.

"I'll take that as a compliment. So, does that mean _you_ get a date too?"

"Two," he said, with relish. "Finn and I are going out Thursday; Noah and I get Saturday. I can't wait to see what they plan."

"I don't know, Kurt." Mercedes was dubious. "This is _Finn_ and _Puck_ we're talking about. Are you really trusting them to come up with something _you'll_ like doing?"

"I do trust them," he said loyally. "Anyway, we were supposed to find an activity that _both_ of us would like. I'm guessing Finn and I will end up eating something amazing that Noah cooks, and Noah and I will probably… ahem." The image that appeared before his imagination was _not_ one that he felt comfortable sharing with Mercedes, and for once she seemed willing to accept this.

"I always wondered," she said, changing the subject; "why do you call him _Noah, _anyway?"

Kurt sent his mind back through time, those few short weeks earlier, to when Noah had been transformed from a vague irritation to one of the most significant people in his life. He closed his eyes, still disbelieving the reality of the situation most of the time, and smiled. When he opened his eyes again, Mercedes was watching him, amused, shaking her head.

"I never thought I'd need to call him _anything,_" he said quietly, speaking to himself as much as to her. "But I remember the moment it changed: when I got slushied in the middle of the locker room, after quitting football for Glee. Noah followed me to the bathroom and helped me clean up. I think that was the first time he ever touched me without it being an assault." He sighed. "I think I started to trust him, right then. I called him Noah without thinking about it. He said later… that's when he realized how he felt about me."

"All the way back then?" she said, astonished. He nodded.

"He went to Finn and gave him a stern talking to, right afterwards," he said. "Standing up for me, though I didn't hear about it until much later. I suppose, subconsciously, I wanted to make a change in who he was to me. Suddenly he wasn't Puck, the jerk, the bully – he was _Noah,_ my friend. And the boy Finn loved. And – thinking of _them_ together, was just…"

"Hot," they both said together, and erupted in mirth. "Yes, that," he said, giggling. "But also _right,_ and I knew it. Even then, when Finn and I were… still learning about each other, I knew they belonged together. I didn't want to get in their way."

"It doesn't seem like you are," Mercedes protested. "But this thing with Puck – Kurt, you were right. He's _different, _somehow. A lot different. All those emotions, just below the surface – honestly, it's a little creepy. Do you see that all the time, or just when things are hard?"

"We see it when he's in touch with himself," he said carefully, not wanting to say too much. He was pretty sure Mercedes wouldn't get the idea of Noah – not to mention Kurt, himself – being spanked. "Finn and I help him get some perspective on things when he forgets he doesn't have to be a jerk. That's when we get to see him cry, and be sweet."

"I get that now," she said, hushed. "You were right, Kurt. Coming over for dinner, seeing you three together – I've never been a fan of Puck's, you know that, but - he was really worried about you. I think he actually does love you."

"Yes," Kurt agreed. "He does. And I actually love him."

She hugged him again. "I don't think I could ever feel bad when you're this happy, but I'm feeling a lot better about it now. They're good for you. Really good – both of them."

"Thank you," he whispered, hugging her back. "I can't tell you how lucky I feel, to have this."

"They'll be saying the same thing about you tonight, after their date," she said, grinning. "Now, here's what they can do…"

* * *

><p>"The baby's kicking all the time again," Quinn said to Terri as she climbed into the car, settling her school bag next to her feet. "Didn't you say that meant it was going to be a boy? Because the ultrasound was pretty sure it was a girl. I guess we should check, because if you decorate the entire nursery and it ends up—"<p>

"Quinn," Terri said, and her tone of voice made Quinn look up in a hurry. She looked terrible; her eyes were red-rimmed and clearly she hadn't bothered to wear mascara today. "Will – Mr. Schue – he found out. About my - baby."

"… Oh." Quinn's eyes widened as she considered the implications of this. _"Oh."_

"Yeah," Terri said, biting her lip. "I think he's going to ask me to move out."

"I'm sorry," Quinn said, not knowing what else to say. Her mind was whirling.

"So… I wanted you to know that I still would help you find a home for the baby, if you're looking for one. I don't want you to feel… stuck, now."

"Actually – I was going to talk to you about that anyway. This might be all for the best. It makes things less complicated, anyway." Quinn put her head back on the seat and closed her eyes. "I just wish it was over. I just want my body back."

"You've got your whole life yet," Terri said, her voice bitter. "It won't take you long before your tummy's flat and your boobs are perfect again."

_Again? _Quinn thought, raising an eyebrow. The boobs were the best part of the pregnancy so far, she thought. But Terri was somewhere else, not thinking about Quinn, and she wasn't going to try too hard to reel her back in. "Good luck," she said, opening the car door and hauling herself back to vertical again.

"You, too," came the quiet voice from inside the car.

It was the middle of algebra, and Quinn knew exactly where she'd find Puck. Sure enough, she caught sight of his mohawk in the back of the clinic when she opened the door. The new nurse smiled at her as she pushed her way back to the little room with the cot. "Feeling a little queasy," she lied, and the nurse nodded sympathetically.

"I can get you some crackers?" she suggested. Quinn smiled, and she went off to get them.

Puck regarded her as she sat beside him and touched his arm. "Good news. Well, for you, anyway."

"Um," he said, thinking. "Grade point averages work backwards now?"

"It's about the baby," she said, more quietly than she probably needed to. Anybody who didn't know by now that the baby was Puck's just wasn't paying attention. He blinked and straightened up.

"Is she okay? What's going on?"

"Mr. Schue found out about Terri's lying. She doesn't want the baby anymore."

She watched the thought filter into his brain as he sat there, lips parted, his eyes flickering. The smile that dawned was really quite lovely, and she was inexplicably touched. "You mean – she's all mine? Really?"

Quinn flinched as Puck grabbed her in a hug that was far too enthusiastic for ten o'clock in the morning. "You're an idiot, Puck," she said irritably, ignoring the warm feelings inside. "What are you going to do with a _baby_ in high school?"

His smile didn't fade, but he acquired a stubborn cast to his brow. "Who says I'm sticking around?"

* * *

><p>"Finn? What are you doing?" his mom asked, confused, as she caught sight of Finn at the dining table. He looked down, then back up.<p>

"Homework?" he answered, equally confused.

"Yes, I got that," she said patiently, "but why? It's 4:30 in the afternoon. You never do homework now."

"I've got a date tonight," he said, grinning. "I needed to get it done early."

Carole's lips twitched. "Anybody I know?"

"Mom," he laughed. "Kurt's planning a date for me and Puck."

Her sarcasm gave way to melty admiration. "Oh, sweetie, that's so… romantic! Whose idea was that?"

He grinned again, this time with pride. "Mine. Well, kind of. We needed something special, something we could do together, just the two of us, and Sarah was telling us about the way they used to do Date Night, and I just took it and ran with it."

She pulled a chair up and sat next to him. "Do you know what you're planning to do tonight?"

"Kurt should be home anytime, and he's going to tell us then." Finn shrugged. "I'm just looking forward to going out with Puck. We used to go out all the time, but things have been so crazy, we haven't, like, _done_ anything fun." He blushed. "Uh, you know what I mean."

"I do," she said, trying hard not to smile.

The front door slammed open and they heard running feet in the foyer, and they both looked up to see Puck framed in the doorway, bouncing on both toes. "Hi, Carole," he said, then, grinning, to Finn: "Dude. Want to play a little pick-up?"

"It's forty degrees out there," Finn said, tipping his head.

Puck looked like this hadn't occurred to him, then shrugged. "Come on. We'll wear coats."

"I'm finishing my homework." Finn tapped the paper with his pencil. "Maybe you should, too."

He saw the look pass over Puck's face, that _You don't get to tell me what to do _look, the one he'd seen more and more often lately. He sighed, glancing at his mom, wondering what she'd think if he tried handling Puck in front of her. He tried to stick with tact, for now. "If you get it done early, we'll have a better time tonight, right?"

"Whatever," Puck said, his good mood quashed. Now he looked like he wanted to kick something. Finn and his mom exchanged a look, and he shrugged while Puck was looking elsewhere. "I'll just shoot some baskets until Kurt gets back from the garage." He ducked back out as quickly as he'd come, and the door slammed again.

"Is he all right?" Carole's expression wasn't exactly worried, but she did look puzzled. "Puck's been more… out of sorts, lately."

"Something's going on," Finn confided. "But he won't tell me what it is."

"I bet he'll come around," she said, but she didn't look so sure. Finn didn't feel so sure either, but he didn't think he had much of a choice. He thought about Tess and Carl, and hoped maybe they would sort things out. He'd felt so much better after talking with Tess, but his talk with Carl had been even more… intriguing, and he'd been looking forward to their continued discussion today. Now it was on hold. It felt like so many things were uncertain. He shook his head.

Carole's hand on his was warm, and he smiled at her gratefully. "You're a good man, Finn," she said quietly.

"Mom," he said, rolling his eyes. But she held up her other hand.

"I see what's going on. You, taking good care of the people you love." She pointed at the door. "He's part of your family, just like I am. Sarah, too. And I know Kurt is incredibly special to you. You're managing everybody." Unshed tears made her eyes twinkle. "You're like… the head of the household, and you're not even seventeen yet."

"I guess I had a good teacher," he tried, and that made the tears spill over. He came over and gave her a hug. "I love you, mom."

"I'm so proud of you, Finn," she replied, wiping her eyes.

"Finn?" They looked at the door again, this time to see Kurt standing there, hesitant. Carole held out an arm and beckoned him over, and he approached slowly. She drew him into the crook of her arm, and hugged them both from the chair. Kurt gave Finn a startled, questioning glance, and he shrugged. _Moms,_ he mouthed, and Kurt grinned.

"Better day today, Kurt?" Carole asked, looking up at him, and he nodded emphatically.

"Much. Thanks to Noah and Finn, and Mercedes and Tina. No slushies, no lockers, no epithets of any kind. It was a little surreal, actually." He beamed up at Finn. "I hope you guys are all set for your date tonight."

"It'd be easier to be set if I knew what we were doing," Finn grinned back.

"Oh, right. Okay, then: first course." He handed Finn a long, narrow envelope. Finn took it curiously, and opened it to find gift certificates to Beer Barrel Pizza.

"Dude!" Finn exclaimed, feeling the grin eclipsed by a ecstatic smile. "You're the best. Hey, and Tuesday is –"

"Pulled pork night, I know," Kurt interrupted. "I know your tastes, Finn Hudson. If it'd been Wednesday I would have gotten coupons to Fat Jack's. Second course." Now he handed him a roll of quarters and a business card. Finn inspected the card: _Viral Taktix, Findlay, OH._

"Hey, I heard about this place," he said, tapping the card. "Like, an old-school arcade, but with Xbox and Wii and stuff too."

"Mercedes says it's the best place in the area to play video games. I'm going to trust my experts." Kurt looked smug.

Finn eyed the last thing in Kurt's hand. "Is that the third course?"

"Maybe." Kurt waved it in the air as high as he could reach, which of course was not too high for _Finn_ to reach, but it was the gesture that counted. Finn almost reached over and smacked his butt, but _that_ would have been hard to explain to his mom. Instead he shot him a look over her head, and Kurt just coughed once before handing it over.

"What's this? It's just a Google map to – Mercedes' house?" Finn looked questioningly at Kurt.

"Mmmm," he said, eyeing Carole. "Uh – Mercedes got permission for you to use her hot tub for a few hours."

Carole cleared her throat. "I think that was the cue for the mother to exit, stage left," she said, standing and wandering into the kitchen. "Have a great time. Don't be out past eleven."

"I won't, Mom." Finn felt his eyes widen, and he approached Kurt, wrapping him up in a hug. "You're the most awesome boyfriend in the whole world," he whispered.

"I love you," Kurt said, gazing up into his face. "I love both of you so much – and I know it hasn't been easy lately, for any of us. I just want you to relax and have a good time."

"Then that's exactly what we'll do," he said, reaching down and cupping Kurt's rear end in his hands, and heard Kurt's breath catch. "But you can _bet_ we'll be back at your house afterwards to thank you in person."

"Um," Kurt said, with that doe-eyed, amazed expression that always made Finn wonder _how_ he'd ever found girls sexy, when he had this unbelievable boy in his arms. "That sounds… perfect."

* * *

><p>Finn realized, when he saw Puck in his hottest, tightest black t-shirt and favorite worn jeans, that he hadn't even tried to dress for their date. He hesitated with the car keys in his hand, looking down at his drab khakis and blue Henley and said, "Should I go change?"<p>

"No, dude." Puck put an appreciative hand on his abs, which made Finn feel a little better. He'd never been as cut as Puck, but Puck had nothing but good things to say about his body since they'd started having those kind of conversations.

"We'll be back by eleven," he promised his mother again, and waved at Burt, looking comfortably at home on the couch by the television.

"I bet they're having their own date," he said to Puck after he closed the door.

"You'd better believe it," Puck smirked. "No kids at the house… we'd better not come home early."

Finn grinned, but he felt warm inside from more than the joke. _Puck __had said "home." This could be his home. Their home._

He took Puck's hand as they walked to the car. "Our first date," he said.

"Huh," said Puck after a minute, and his voice was soft. "After… how many weeks of fucking?"

"A bunch. I bet Kurt would know."

Puck laughed. "Yeah, probably. I bet he has it written on his calendar. _Finn __and Kurt's fucking anniversary. Kurt and Puck –_ uh, _Noah__'__s fucking anniversary. Finn and Kurt and Noah's –"_

"You're a laugh riot, Puckerman," Finn groaned, but he was still smiling. "You hungry?"

"Is that really a question?" He felt Puck's hand on his ass. "Or are you still talking about fucking?"

Finn felt a pulse of heat pass between them, like the echo after a gunshot. "I think that's the third course," he said, and pulled Puck's hand around his waist, so they were suddenly walking with their arms around each other, like any ordinary couple. Nobody was watching on a Lima neighborhood street in November, but Finn resisted the urge to glance around to make sure they were alone.

"Third course?" Puck said, leaning his head into Finn's chest and giving his waist a squeeze.

As they climbed into Puck's truck, Finn explained the itinerary. Puck's grin got bigger with each part, and when he got to the hot tub, Puck groaned in absolutely pornographic pleasure. Finn felt his cock throb, and told himself sternly to _get __it together._ "Okay, this is already the best date ever," Puck said.

Finn recalled himself saying that, weeks ago, to Kurt, upon the launching of their friends-with-benefits relationship. Their movie, pizza and hilarious groping had been the best sleepover he'd ever had – rivaled only by another sleepover, not long after that, with Puck. Since then there'd been far too many _best __ever_ moments, so many that there was no way he'd ever be able to choose one – but they'd all been with one or both of his boys. _His. __His boys._ He closed his eyes and leaned back against the bench seat, flinging his arms behind his head. "God, I'm so unbelievably _lucky.__"_

"You can save that line for the hot tub," Puck said, and gunned the engine.

They got pizza _and_ pulled pork at Beer Barrel, and Puck managed to get them to give him a pitcher of beer with his fake ID. They sat across the table from each other and kept the steamy glances to a minimum; Finn thought they still pulled off Best Friends Hanging Out pretty well - or perhaps only as well as they ever had. His mom hadn't been too surprised by them taking their relationship to another level, so maybe they'd never been all that convincing to begin with?

It felt comfortingly, achingly familiar to Finn, this Best Friends Hanging Out stuff, but Puck was the one who said it first. "I've missed you, man."

"Yeah," Finn agreed. "Me, too. This was just what we needed."

In the dark, in the car on the way to Viral Taktiks, Puck added, "I – I'm sorry I've been kind of a jerk to you."

Finn was startled, but he just took it for what it was: an apology. "You know we've got stuff we can do to take care of that," he said.

"We've been doing it, right? Unless you've got some other fucking magic up your sleeve I should know about?"

Finn's smile twisted in the dark. "No. But the stuff we've been doing? Hasn't really been working for you, has it?"

Puck didn't answer. The highway between Lima and Findlay was too short to encompass the words unspoken between them. Instead, Finn reached out and took his hand, in the space between them. Puck gripped it tight.

"I love you," Finn said. "You know it, right?"

"Yeah," he said roughly.

"I wish you would trust me," he said. "You asked me to take care of you. Why won't you fucking _let __me?"_

"Because I don't always believe that you know what's best for me," Puck said. "And I'm totally freaking out about that."

It was way more honesty than Finn had expected, and he just sat in silence, trying to figure out what to do with it, when Puck sighed and said, "Forget it. Let's just have a good time tonight, okay?"

"If that's what you want," Finn said, watching Puck's back and neck tense, and he kicked himself. _No. __Bad answer. He was in charge. That's what Puck needed – no options, no choices. _

It was okay, though, and when they got out of the truck in the parking lot of Viral Taktiks, Puck said, somewhat hesitantly, "Are we – together, here? Like, brothers, friends… lovers, what?"

"Definitely together," Finn decided. "But let's stick with friends for tonight, until we can figure out how that would be for these guys. I'd hate to hit a nest of conservative rednecks."

Luckily it ended up being more of a nest of nerds and geeks, and some fairly asexual ones at that. They were the only guys there as a pair; everyone else hadn't bothered or weren't interested. Not one person blinked more than once at their periodic connection at the hip and the hand, and that was as far as they took it.

But it also meant they were holding back, how they usually were together, and after the last smoking look Puck shot him under his brows, Finn knew if they waited much longer, it'd stop being _covert_ and start being pretty fucking _obvious_ that they were more than friends.

"Let's get going," he said under his breath, as Puck destroyed his last opponent on the multiplayer Wii game. He was absurdly proud that Puck was good at video games, and watching the respect the rest of the gamers gave them as they left, he found himself standing tall. _Like __it had anything to do with me?_

Stepping into the truck, though, he thought about what his mother had said to him earlier that evening, how proud she was of him – and she realized it _might_ have something to do with him. It _did_ reflect on him, because how Puck was in the world, with others, was partly _because_ of what they did together. He was rocked by the responsibility of it, as he often was, but also flushed by the power it granted him. He prayed to whatever was out there _not __to fuck it up - please, please, don't let me make the wrong choices. _

He reached across the seat for Puck, pulling him close, feeling their mutual need for the contact, not bothering to worry about the nearly empty parking lot in the strip mall around them. They were in a different city, on a Tuesday night, and _this,_ this was more important than anything: his mouth on Puck's, breathing into his ear, his hands on the back of his neck, as he said, "You're such a good boy, and I'm proud of you."

Puck crumpled into him like a newspaper, just plastered himself to Finn's body, shuddering. "Oh, god," he groaned, long and low. "Oh… thank you, sir."

"Mine," Finn whispered, stroking his fingers greedily through the soft stripe of his hair.

Puck's response was barely audible. "Always."

He stayed close as Puck started the truck and drove, wordlessly, all the way back to Lima. He pulled into Mercedes' neighborhood, one of the ritzier areas, and parked in her driveway. "Wait there," he said, and Puck did, not even undoing his seat belt, just waiting.

Finn knew his face must be giving something away, because the look Mercedes gave him when she met him at the door was startled and a little wistful. "Hey," she said, smiling. "Is Puck –"

"He'll be here in a minute," he nodded, and followed her into the house.

She showed him where the half bath was that led to the outside deck, complete with privacy fence, and handed him two big maroon towels. "When you're done, put the cover back on," she said, showing him. "Just turn off the lights and leave everything else. I'll take care of it in the morning. I'm not coming out of my room, no matter what I hear, got it?"

"I just wanted to thank you," he said. "This is really awesome of you, to do this for Kurt. And for us."

She looked at him frankly. "Kurt's happy," she said. "And he's completely gone, on both of you. Whatever happens, I hope this is what _you_ want, because I think it's really good for him."

The vulnerability he'd felt in the car with Puck spilled over a little, and he found himself hugging her. "All right, all right, Hudson," she said, laughing, patting his back. "Have a good time, okay?"

He went back to the car to find Puck sitting exactly where he'd left him, waiting. "You ready?" he said, opening his door for him and helping him out of his seat belt.

"Yeah," Puck nodded. He reached for Finn's hand, and they walked together into the house. Mercedes had disappeared, but they found a plate of cookies on the table with a note: _Happy __date night, guys._

"Jeez," Puck said, holding up the note, blinking.

"She's his best friend," Finn said. "She loves him, too."

They took the cookies out to the deck and set them within reach of the bubbling water. The night was cold, and they could see their breath as they undressed quickly and climbed into the steaming tub. Finn hissed at the sudden change in temperature, but it wasn't long before he'd adjusted.

"This is perfect," Puck moaned, closing his eyes. "It's like the best fantasy I could imagine. Alone in a hot tub with Finn fucking Hudson."

"I still have a hard time believing that you've had this thing for me, all this time, and you never told me," he said, moving into the plexiglass space under the water next to Puck, and laying a hand on his knee.

"Yeah, well, up until a month ago, I thought you were a hundred percent straight." Puck shivered under his touch, in a way that probably had nothing to do with the temperature of the air. "The dreams I've about you all my fucking life were nothing you ever wanted, I figured, so I just didn't say anything. I had you, and I had sex - even if I didn't get it from you - so it was okay."

Puck opened his eyes to gaze at Finn. Finn was reminded of Kurt looking up at him earlier with a similar expression: love, and desire, and trust, and the kind of understanding he'd never expected from anyone. He found himself reaching for Puck's face, not to pull him in, just to touch it, and reassure himself it was real.

"I'm not sure what percentage I am anymore," he said. "But I'm a hundred percent in love with you."

"Yeah," Puck said, his smile showing the same amazement Finn was feeling. "Me, too."

Puck swung a leg over to straddle Finn. He could feel his cock under the water, hot and hard, and he was kissing and stroking him before he realized it. Puck moaned again, and this time it was all for Finn, all about what he was doing. He felt that rush of power again, and he tightened his grip on Puck's arm until it was almost painful. Puck didn't pull away, though – he just thrust more firmly against Finn, seeking friction.

"I want you to fuck me," Puck said.

"Uh –" Finn felt his vision white out for a second, and he shook his head to clear it. "Lube?" he managed.

"In my jeans," Puck said, reaching for them, coming up out of the water right in front of Finn, and his cock was just right _there, _looking so fucking wet and edible that Finn leaned forward and took him in his mouth, as deep as he could.

"_Fuck__–"_ Puck hissed, and scrambled for a hold on the edge of the hot tub. "Finn, I'm not gonna last –"

Finn reached up and grabbed his hips in his hands, not letting him pull away yet, and did his best to relax his throat. _Still __need those lessons,_ he thought ruefully, but luckily Puck didn't seem to be picky. He could feel the trembling in Puck's thighs as he tried to keep himself up above the water, accessible to Finn's mouth, and he thrust in a little, making Finn choke.

"Seriously," Puck said, a little desperately, and this time Finn let him pull away and drop back into the water. Puck took a couple deep breaths before he met Finn's eyes, and the lust there was staggering. _For __him,_ he marveled again.

"You're going to have to get yourself out of the water," Finn said, taking the lube from Puck's shaking hand. "Put your hands there, on the edge."

Puck complied swiftly, turning around, bracing himself just as he did when Finn was getting ready to spank him, and the dual impulses were nearly irresistible. He ran a hand down Puck's strong back and along his ass, beaded with water. The bruises from their last session had faded to almost nothing.

"Come on, man," Puck urged, his hips snapping back, looking over his shoulder. Finn didn't even think; he just brought his hand down, hard, on Puck's bottom, making him cry out.

"I'm going to take my time," he said steadily. "You'd better get used to that."

"Yes, sir," he breathed, letting his head dangle from his neck. "Sorry," he added.

"I'll take care of you," he promised, and stroked him again, down his back to his ass, now bearing one pink handprint. Puck leaned into the stroke, muttering, but otherwise waited patiently for Finn's lead. "That's my good boy."

"Holy fuck, Finn," Puck said, his voice breaking. "What I feel when you _say_ that."

That was precisely what Finn wanted to hear, to hear him coming apart like that, what he'd been missing for days now. For far too long, Puck had been resisting him. He felt something like anger, and something like spite, coloring his incredible love and intense desire. "I want you to be good," he said. "I want you to do what I say."

"I want to be good," he begged. "Please… I need you to help me."

"I know," Finn said, quiet in the dark. He took two lube-slick fingers and slid them between Puck's ass cheeks, finding the tight hole there, and working them inside, a little at a time. "I'm here. Just let me handle it."

"Yes, sir," he said, shaking. "Yes – god, yes."

Despite his own words, he found himself moving quickly, finding a space behind Puck, putting him where he needed him to fit against Finn's own body. He was reminded uncomfortably of Carl, positioning Puck, touching him – and he felt a rush of _rage,_ that someone else could have _touched_ Puck, without his permission. It was the same rage he'd felt at school when Azimio and Karofsky had slushied Kurt – they had _no__right _to do that to – to - something of _his._

"Nobody gets to touch you," he said hoarsely. "Just me and Kurt. Nobody else. You're mine."

"Yes, sir," Puck said, and it was a plea. Finn needed him to want it that much, because _he_ did, too. They just fit, perfectly: the desire and the fulfillment of desire, just as their bodies fit together, the filler and the filled. Finn sensed it, through his haze of wanting, the absolute satisfaction of his need, as he nudged his cock slowly into Puck's welcoming ass.

"This… this is us," Finn gasped, in the midst of long, slow strokes. "This is me and you. The way we belong together."

Puck's back was bending back, now, like the bow in the archer's hand, his face tipping up toward the light of the moon shining down on them. Finn's hand pressed into the center of Puck's back, feeling the tension, the dynamic movement of Puck's need, drawing him out.

"Oh, god…" Puck began, "oh, _god,_ oh, god…" With each slow, deliberate movement of his hips, the tension increased, and Finn thought he heard a note of anguish, even panic, accompanying the passion in Puck's voice, but he was too far gone himself to care. He leaned forward as the sensation began to crest, reaching hungrily to connect their mouths, and letting his hand curl around to Puck's belly to stroke him. That was enough to push them both over the edge, and Finn heard Puck choking out his name as he came.

The water welcomed them as they relaxed, soothing their frozen skin. Finn rested his head on Puck's cold neck, closing his eyes, breathing hard.

"You okay?" he had to ask, because Puck hadn't sounded much like himself at the end there. Even if he accounted for the changes in Puck put forth by their new relationship, Puck was still pretty much a sex shark. Tonight, though, he'd sounded like a wounded animal.

Puck didn't answer for a long minute, but eventually he stirred, moving his head off the side of the hot tub. "Yeah," he said, tired and sober. His face was troubled when he turned to Finn, but he opened up to his kiss readily enough, and when Finn pulled him into his lap, he accepted that with no complaint, letting his head rest on Finn's chest. Pretty soon his breathing evened out, and Finn heard him sigh.

"Fucking incredible," Puck said.

"What's been bothering you?" Finn said softly, holding him close. "You can tell me." Puck's cheek was icy against his skin, and Finn felt him huddle in closer.

"It's the baby," he heard, and Finn tried not to stiffen. _Not __this again,_ he thought.

"Okay," he said. "What about her?"

"I want to keep her," Puck said. "I want to be her papa."

Finn took a deep breath. "Do you know why… I don't agree with that for you, right now?" He felt Puck shake his head, shifting against the hairs on his chest. "You've got so much going on in your life right now. This, with us, is just part of it, but it's huge, just by itself. Then you've got your mom and Timothy and Sarah. And school – all those little things, Glee, and classes, and football. That's a lot of shit, man."

"I know," Puck started, but Finn stopped him.

"You're not seeing things clearly again. There's no way you can handle all those things and still get through your every day without going completely insane. And taking care of another human being…" He breathed again, feeling the tension in his stomach, and trying to remain calm. "So… if you can't give her up, you're going to have to give something else up. Me. If you choose her… you can't have me."

Puck jerked his head off Finn's chest and regarded him with shock and surprise. "What?"

"I'm serious. You need fewer things in your life. If you're not going to follow my lead, the only one I have control over is me." He held Puck's wrists in his hands. "Is that what you want?"

"N-no!" he spluttered. "Finn, I'd never –"

"Then you have to choose. If you won't let me choose for you, you have to choose, now. Who's it going to be? Me, or her?"

Puck's anguish was clear now, right on the surface, and it hurt Finn more than he could have believed, but he stayed steady and strong through Puck's indecision. "Finn, I…" He blinked his eyes several times, and finally seemed to come to a conclusion. "I'll stay with you," he said.

Finn did not expect the relief that came crashing down on him, but again, he tried to stay strong through it. "Good," he said, wrapping his arms around Puck. "Now, you need to _drop __this,_ or else, I swear to God, I'll kick your ass."

Puck's voice was barely a whisper above the bubbling of the water. "Yes, sir."


	11. Chapter 11

Dear readers,

I feel a little disingenuous, luring you here with the promise of another chapter… but there were _so_ many comments about Bad Finn and _so _many of them were anonymous, I had no recourse but to post my response this way.

RANT

Here's a summary of the last chapter:

Puck lies to Finn, and Finn totally buys it.  
>Finn fucks up royally.<p>

Here's a summary of the _next_ ten chapters:

Bad shit goes down.

Yes, you are all absolutely right. Finn made a big, bad, terrible mistake. He should not have made any kind of ultimatum, making Puck choose. He should not have used his Dominant status to control Puck in that way. He should not, not, NOT ever threaten to hurt his sub.

And, if you've seen the show (and hell, if you haven't, why are you reading this stuff?), you _know_ exactly what is going to happen in the next episode. In fact, I'll spoil it for you: Finn kicks Puck's ass, right in the middle of the choir room.

I'll do you one better. Here's the scene, exactly as it reads in the script of Sectionals (and now, you can hear it through the ears of the Donutverse, and it will need very little tweaking to use in the story):

[ENTER WILL and EMMA. WILL separates PUCK and FINN]

WILL: Hey, come on, come on. Get off him! Knock it off! Get off! Get off! Hey.

FINN: Tell the truth!

PUCK: Punk just walked in and sucker punched me.

FINN: Don't play dumb— you're too freaking dumb to play dumb!

WILL: Come on!

QUINN: Who told you this, Finn?

KURT: Obviously, it was Rachel.

RACHEL: What? I didn't do anything.

FINN: Yeah, it was Rachel, but I want to hear it from you. I want to hear it from both of you.

WILL: Finn, just calm down.

FINN: No! They're both lying to me! Is it true? Just tell me— is it true?

QUINN: Yes. Puck is the father.

FINN: So, all… All that stuff in the hot tub… You just made that up?

PUCK: You were stupid enough to buy it.

WILL: Hey, hey, hey, hey.

QUINN: (sobbing) I am so sorry.

FINN: Screw this. I'm done with you. I'm done with… I'm done with all of you!

And, if you've seen the rest of season one, you know they pretty much break up for a while. I've already written many of the upcoming chapters. It's going to suck, big time, for Finn (who will know before long how bad he's messed up, and he'll ache for Puck terribly) and for Puck (who will have to deal with the anguish of being hurt by someone who's promised to take care of him) and Kurt (who's just going to bear the brunt of all of it, and feel awful for not being able to help).

So now. Consider… am I going to leave you hanging with a Finn who doesn't take care of his sub and a Puck who continues lying? No. Am I going to split up my fabulous triad for good? Hell no. Am I going to provide lots of angst and terrible sixteen-year-old mistakes?

Well, if you don't know the answer to _that,_ you might want to go back and check the chapter summaries at the top of this page.

If you can't deal with it, and the angst and the messing up and the badly handled D/s is just too much for you, I totally got that. Go read Gold Mine and enjoy the sweet first time adorableness of Puck and Dave, or Road Trip, if you prefer your slash of the Puck/Finn variety. Or skip the next few chapters (at your peril – because there's great Will/Toby stuff coming…).

But I hope you will hang in there, and trust that everything will come out okay in the end. I promise, they will be okay by the end of this story. With Puck dessert on top. And there will be sweetness and light and happy singing birds shitting glitter everywhere.

/RANT

Seriously, though, THANK YOU for all your thoughtful comments, and especially those in which you disagree with the way I've handled things in the story. Carl is going to get his; Finn is definitely going to get his, too. Punishment will be swift and severe - and most of it will come from within himself. Thank goodness for Mistress Tess, because my sweet sub self really can't handle all the stuff I have to dole out to my boys.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled Donutverse.

-amy


	12. Chapter 12

Kurt woke in the middle of the night to prowling noises. They would have been much scarier if he hadn't left on a light in the corner of his room. He was embarrassed to admit that he had a nightlight, but even more embarrassed that, after the dreams of Sunday, he'd gotten his old stuffed Ernie down from the shelf to sleep with. He currently had a death grip on his worn orange neck, but luckily, Ernie didn't mind, or at least didn't have a voice with which to complain.

"Kurt?" he heard the whisper. "Are you awake?"

He relaxed, smiling, and opened the door to the family room to find both Puck and Finn hovering by the green couch. Puck's face looked worried. "You were making noises," he said. "They didn't sound like good-dream noises, either."

"Well," Kurt said, with what he hoped was a resolved tone, "you're here now, so I'm guessing my dreams are about to get better."

Finn reached for him, and Kurt slipped into his embrace. "You're warm," Finn murmured. Kurt carded his fingers through Finn's wet hair.

"My bed's warmer," Kurt suggested. "Take these off and come join me."

But as they divested themselves of their clothing, he couldn't help notice Finn's wrinkled brow, and Puck's silence. "Noah," he said quietly, his hands making short work of Puck's jeans. "How was your date?"

His smile seemed honest enough, and he kissed Kurt with sincerity. "Best date ever," he said. "Seriously. Never had one like that before. Thank you, baby."

"You're so welcome, sweetheart," he said, nestling into Puck's bare chest. It was firm enough that by all rights it could have felt like cuddling the side of a building, but somehow it never did. "Come to bed?"

They all piled onto Kurt's not-nearly-big-enough mattress and pulled the covers up over all of them, shivering in the late November night.

"What was the best part?" Kurt couldn't help asking, and watched Puck exchange a look with Finn. It was a complicated look, but there was definitely love there, and he was warmed by the way Finn reached across Kurt to put a gentle hand on Puck's chest. Puck closed his eyes at the touch.

"Spending time with each other," Finn said. "We haven't just hung out in a while. It felt like old times."

"With orgasms," Puck added, his lips quirking. "Which, hey, pretty much makes it not like old times."

"Dork," Finn said, poking Puck's sternum, and Puck snickered, and Kurt relaxed a little more. "Thank you," he added, giving Kurt a kiss. "We will definitely have to do that again. You plan awesome dates. I can't wait for Thursday."

"I was thinking about that," Puck said. Kurt felt a quiver in his stomach as Puck lay his head on Kurt's chest. "Do you guys want to, like, go out? Or would you rather… stay in? Because I think me and Finn can get away with the two friends hanging out thing, but it'll be harder with the two of you, and even harder with me and Kurt. But I figured you could, you know, go to another town, Findlay or maybe even Dayton, and go out on a _real_ date."

The quiver in Kurt's stomach turned into an icicle, stabbing him in the gut, and Finn must have felt him stiffen because he moved his hand from Puck's chest to Kurt's, making little comforting circles. "I think we'd rather stay in and eat your food," Finn suggested, watching Kurt's face, and Kurt nodded.

"That's cool," Puck said, shrugging against Kurt's. "You know, whatever you want."

"You guys can talk about Saturday, too," Finn nodded. "I have some ideas, but tell me if you'd rather go out or stay in. I bet Burt would let you go to Dayton, if it's a weekend."

"We'll let you know," Kurt said, unwilling to pursue the conversation any further with the memories of the night's dreams so close in the room. He yawned.

"Don't crash out on us yet," Puck said. "We haven't thanked you for the date."

"Oh, you don't have to – ohhhhh," Kurt said, as Puck ducked under the covers. It was a singularly incredible experience, Puck's mouth on him. Finn watched Kurt's face hungrily, eyes widening a fraction as Kurt's lips parted and trembled with appreciation.

"He's so good at that," Finn said, low and breathy, and Kurt's enjoyment ratcheted up about six notches in the face of Finn's clear approval. _Convenient,__ that,_ Kurt thought with glazed detachment. _Noah__ gives me a blowjob, which gets me turned on, which turns Finn on, which turns me on; continue ad nauseum. _He let out a strangled gasp as Puck did _something_ with his tongue.

"Do that again," Finn said, putting a hand on Puck's head under the covers. The voice of command was incredibly erotic, and Kurt heard Puck groan in response, which gave Kurt yet another surge of wanting.

"God," he panted. "You guys are making me... god… I'm not going to last long, at this rate."

Puck seemed okay with this news, because he did the _something_ about six more times, and Finn moaned in vicarious enjoyment as Kurt bucked his hips and threw his head back, coming hard.

"I think you two need to go on _more __dates,"_ Kurt suggested, regaining his equilibrium. Finn chuckled, settling down on the pillow to his right, while Puck crept out from under the duvet and threw a leg over Kurt on his left.

"Sounds like a plan," Puck agreed sleepily.

Kurt slept, with no more dreams, through until morning – though they had a moment of collective panic when Burt called down the stairs at 7am, "Do I want to know the answer to why Puckerman's truck is in the driveway?"

"Uh… no?" Kurt called back, as Puck stirred beside him.

"I'll talk to him," Finn said stretching his long legs so that they poked out from the foot of the bed. "We should have asked permission."

"Yeah," Kurt agreed, savoring the last minutes of togetherness. "But it was so worth it."

* * *

><p>"I hate to say it, but Mr. Schue looks just terrible," Kurt said to Finn, closing his locker. "And I'm not referring to his unfortunate fashion sense. He and Principal Figgins and Coach Sylvester were yelling about something in the office this morning. I could store my entire moisturizing regimen in the bags under his eyes."<p>

"He was kind of out of it in Spanish this morning," Finn agreed, and was about to say more, but Quinn grabbed his arm as she hurried by. She included Kurt in her desperate expression.

"Finn – Coach Sylvester's getting us disqualified from sectionals."

"What?" Kurt said, staring wide-eyed at Quinn.

"It's something about the mattresses – I don't really understand, but them being a gift, and us accepting them, somehow… and then Mr. Schue slept on one of them last night, so –"

"What? Why?" Now Finn looked puzzled. "I'm going to go talk to Mr. Schue right now."

"Don't bother – he's in with Miss Pillsbury," Quinn said. She leaned on the lockers, looking back and forth between both of them. "What are we going to do?"

"We need to find out what's going on first," Finn said. "Then we'll figure out what to do to fix it. Don't worry." He reached out and took Quinn's hand.

"I can't believe I even care," Quinn said, shaking her head. "It's just stupid _Glee_club… but I do. I don't want to miss this. I think – I think we might have a chance at regionals."

"Of course we do," Kurt said. "I'm not deluding myself, but we've got some heavy-hitting talent, and we've got heart. The judges will see that."

"I wish we could do that Hair song," Quinn said to Kurt, surprising him. _I__ think this is the first time she's ever spoken to me without making fun of me,_ he thought, but he just looked steadily back and tried to take it at face value. "That was really good."

"Did you hear Lady Gaga called and said how much she loved it?" Finn said, grinning at Quinn's reaction. "She wants Kurt and Brad to go out to her house in Bel-Air and talk music."

"Get. Out." Quinn crossed her arms and gave Kurt a genuinely impressed look. "Is your dad going to let you go?"

"He said if Brad would go, that would be okay," he told her, with a tentative smile.

"Cool," Quinn said, and smiled back for a moment before she seemed to realize she was in the middle of the hallway with Kurt Hummel, and replaced her expression with a frown. "I'm going to go run some recon with Santana, see if I can figure out more. See you in Glee." She pressed a kiss to Finn's cheek before striding quickly away.

"What do you think _that__'__s_ all about?" Finn said, half to himself.

"I don't know," Kurt said, watching her go, and straightened the buckles on his jacket with a little jerk. He felt an enormous surge of jealousy at Quinn's ability to just kiss Finn whenever she wanted, and to have no one even _care._ "I'll meet you at our usual time, okay?"

Finn nodded, not watching him go, but that was the way they had to play it if they wanted to stay safe. Kurt watched Azimio walk by on the other side of the hallway, and he didn't look too closely at him either. It was just better not to make any kind of eye contact. He shuddered, thinking of the dream last night, and what Azimio and Karofsky had done, and how he really hoped it never happened in real life. There were so many worse things than being shoved into a locker.

Kurt found himself walking down the hallway toward Miss Pillsbury's office. Through the glass he could see Mr. Schue talking to her intently. For a while he'd thought they might be having an affair, but then he found out about Miss Pillsbury's upcoming marriage to Coach Tanaka. _Who__ knows,_ he thought, as Mr. Schue pushed back his chair and stood with a wan smile. _Knowing __how complicated my own relationships are, there's no reason why everybody else's couldn't be equally complicated._

"Mr. Schue," he said tentatively, as he stepped out of Miss Pillsbury's office. Mr. Schue looked up, surprised. "I heard Quinn say something about the Glee club being disqualified from Sectionals?"

"Yeah," Mr. Schue said, with a sigh. He squeezed his forehead like it was hurting. "Kurt, I'm really sorry to say this, but – there's an obscure rule about competing clubs accepting gifts, and the mattresses you guys got for that commercial… well, they count. We can't take them back now."

Kurt fell into step beside Mr. Schue, hanging onto the strap of his messenger bag. "Why not? They're in plastic and everything."

"Not… one of them." Kurt caught the panicked look in his eyes, and realized Mr. Schue was near tears. He steered them into the hallway outside the choir room, to that little alcove where he and Finn had had so many private conversations.

"Mr. Schue, are you okay?" he asked.

"Not really," he admitted, with a wry smile, "but I don't think it's appropriate for… students to know personal details about my life. This is pretty personal."

Kurt watched the indecision flicker over his face. "It's just that, I, um… I noticed you were pretty upset this morning, and I thought… well. I know you haven't really liked me very much, but Glee's important to me, and you're part of Glee. You're our leader. I want to help. I don't want us to miss this chance at Nationals."

Mr. Schue shook his head in concern. "Kurt, that's not - what makes you think I don't _like_ you?"

Kurt let a little smile play over his lips. "Oh, come on, Mr. Schue. Let's not pretend here. There have been plenty of times you've passed me over in favor of Rachel or Finn. The thing with Defying Gravity was just one incident."

"I knew that was going to hurt," Mr. Schue murmured. "I'm – I'm sorry about that."

"So why?" He allowed some of the anger he still felt about that come through in his voice. "You're always saying how much you want us to be ourselves, to express our feelings. Why didn't you let me express _mine?_ Is it because I'm gay, or because I sing like a girl, or what?"

Mr. Schue took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly. "Kurt… my best friend growing up… he was gay."

"Toby?"

He blinked. "Yes – how did you…?"

"When I went to Brad's for a piano lesson this weekend, Laurie showed me a picture of him, of all of you, when you were in college." He didn't mention the letter. "Duncan said I reminded him of his Uncle Toby."

Mr. Schue smiled despite himself. "Well, he's right. You and… Toby… you have some things in common. Things that made Toby's life hard, in the same way I know you have to deal with, every day."

Kurt nodded. "It's better some days than others," he admitted. "It turns out this week has been particularly awful."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Mr. Schue's voice was low and pained, and Kurt saw, with a shock, how much it was hurting _him._ "Kurt, I didn't want to put you at risk, any more than you'd already been. I thought, by getting up in front of the audience at Sectionals, and singing a girl's song, you might be in real danger. The enemy you know is better than the enemy you don't. And so far the bullies here, though they've done some pretty terrible things, they haven't really _hurt _you. Toby – he got beat up, and worse."

"I know it could be worse," Kurt said. "But… Mr. Schue, it's bad, right now. It's really bad."

Mr. Schue nodded soberly. "You're incredibly brave, Kurt, to face that every day, and to – to be who you are. You're a lot braver than I'll ever be."

"I don't really have a choice, Mr. Schue." He held open his hands. "This is who I am. I don't think I can change that."

"Lots of people pretend to be something they're not," Mr. Schue said. "All their lives."

Kurt took a step back at the bitter tone in his voice, and cocked his head. "You're still friends with Toby," he said. "How… how is it now? For him?"

"Better." He smiled, his eyes going soft. "A lot better. Things have changed for gay people, in general, since we were kids."

Kurt thought about the picture of all of them, Brad and Laurie, and Mr. Schue, and Toby and the rest, their arms around each other. He felt a pang, wondering if that was how it might be someday, for him and Noah and Finn – if they would still be friends like that when they were grown. "Is he happy, though? Did… does he have someone? Someone to be, you know... _home_?"

He wasn't prepared for the look of tortured anguish on Mr. Schue's face. "I'm sorry," Kurt added quickly, but Mr. Schue just shook his head. Kurt put out a steadying hand, and Mr. Schue gripped it, almost too tight. He blinked away tears. Then he seemed to realize what he'd done, and he slowly released his grip.

"No," he said. "It's okay. It's my… my wife." His mouth made a straight line, and he seemed to get taller, somehow. "I'm leaving her. We're getting a divorce."

"Oh." Kurt wasn't sure what to say in response. "Is that why you slept on that mattress?"

"Yeah." He sighed. "I didn't even think about it. They were just here, this big stack, and I… I didn't want to go back to that apartment and pretend it was _home_, not one more night, not when…"

"Mr. Schue?" Kurt's mind was racing. "Can you show me those Glee club rules? I want to see _exactly _what we're up against."

"Sure." Mr. Schue's hand on Kurt's shoulder felt warm. "And then I think I need to book a flight. I have some business to take care of."

* * *

><p>Kurt let the State of Ohio Intramural Rule Book hit Quinn just above her baby bump as he strode by. "Follow me," he said, low enough not to be heard. After a pause, she did, far enough behind him not to look like she was intentionally walking with him, but when he turned into the girls' restroom, she came in right behind him.<p>

"Leave," she ordered the juniors hovering by the mirror, and, after a calculating sneer, they did. Kurt nodded, impressed.

"I guess you haven't lost your touch, even though you're not wearing that uniform anymore," he said. She scowled at him.

"I'm going to get back on the Cheerios," she said. "I'll find a way."

"That's what I was going to ask you about." He tapped the hardcover rule book. "You _know_ Coach Sylvester. I want you to look at these rules and see if there's anything we can use against _her_, the way she's using the rules against _us._ If you can do it for Glee club, there's no reason why you can't use it to help yourself, too."

"That's… actually pretty smart," Quinn said slowly, frowning at Kurt. "Why are you helping me, though?"

"Because, even though you might not love it all the time, I think you actually have a nice voice, and you're a great dancer. We need you in Glee." He considered her bump. "And even though you lied through your teeth to him about the baby, I know you care about Finn, too."

At least she had the grace to look embarrassed. "I do," she said. "At least now he gets to have it, anyway."

"What are you talking about?" he said.

She blinked. "Puck. The baby. It's his?"

"I know it's his," Kurt said. They just stared at each other for a moment, before she shook her head.

"I don't think it's a good idea," she said. "But I won't stand in his way."

Kurt flipped open the rule book, feeling uneasy, like he was missing something, but unwilling to spend more time with Quinn being cryptic. "Let's look through here. I've only go another five minutes before English."

She only had to glare once at the next group of girls that came into the restroom – that, plus Kurt's presence, was enough – and they left them alone to peruse the book. Kurt looked up the ruling that had gotten them in trouble with the mattresses, and they read it together.

"Huh," she said.

"What?"

She touched the page. "This. The Cheerios accept gifts all the time. I mean, _seriously, _we get all kinds of swag. There's no way she can pull this off."

Kurt rubbed his chin. "You think she'd back down if you brought that up?"

"Maybe… maybe." He could tell Quinn's mind was going a mile a minute.

"You should put on your Cheerios uniform and go in there."

She laughed. "There's no way I could fit into that."

"Oh, please. With the appropriate application of Spanx, we could get you into a toilet paper tube. What do you wear, a six?"

"Four, _thank __you,"_ she said, with exaggerated icy calm, but her eyes were shining. "That's a pretty good idea, actually. You're a real ball-buster. Well. You know what I mean."

"I do," he said, grinning, and she grinned back.

"I'm going to go right now and try it on – and then I'm going right to Hypocrite Sylvester's office and giving her a piece of my mind. She can't bully Glee around like it's one of her Cheerios."

"I don't know why you want to bother with the Cheerios, anyway, if she's going to treat you that way," Kurt said, leaning back on the sink next to Quinn. "Don't you deserve to be in a group that really wants you there?"

"And you think Glee club does?" She snorted, and Kurt saw the anxiety in her eyes. He thought about Mr. Schue. _God. __Does everybody worry about fitting in? Even the popular kids? Even the grownups?_

Then he remembered singing Hair for Glee, and he found himself gently touching Quinn's arm, and she looked at him, startled. "You belong, just as much as we all do. Glee - it's for everyone."

Her nose wrinkled, and she looked at him like he was crazy, but her words were mild as she slipped out of the restroom. "I wish I could believe that."


	13. Chapter 13

_(Author's note: big red-letter warnings in this chapter for discipline. One might subtitle this "Dr. Carl Gets What's Coming To Him." You can skip the middle part with Tess and Carl if it really bothers you; the last bit with them and the boys is just talking - but you'll miss some fricking amazing Tess. Enjoy. -amy)_

* * *

><p>When Quinn reappeared just before Glee, she was sparkling with excitement. "I made her take me back," she announced to everyone present, "and then I told Coach Sylvester <em>exactly<em> what she could do with her damn Cheerios."

"Eat them?" Brittany suggested. "That's what I do."

Puck appraised Quinn's skirt coolly. "So what's with the uniform, then?"

"Just to prove she could do it," Kurt said. "She needed to convince Coach Sylvester she was serious."

"She totally bought it," Quinn said with relish. "But she's not going to trust me again for a while. I'm a useless double agent."

"But you were awesome," Finn said, and she smiled up at him. "But where are the risers? Aren't we rehearsing today?"

"If you are," said Mr. Schue, emerging from his office, face downcast, "you'll have to do it without me. You're not disqualified from competition – _I_am."

"What the hell?" Mercedes said, glancing at Kurt. He shrugged, mystified.

Artie looked crushed. "We don't want to go to Sectionals without you."

Mr. Schue leaned on the unwrapped mattress, propped against the larger pile, and sighed. "It's without me, or not at all. Look – I was the one who slept on the mattress, which means I accepted them. Not you."

"He's taking the bullet for us," Puck said, soberly. "Solid."

Mr. Schue took a deep breath. "We have worked too hard for you guys not to get your shot."

Finn looked at him imploringly. "We can't do this without you, Mr. Schue. Hell, we probably can't do it _with_ you."

"That's not true," Mr. Schue argued. "You guys are _good._ You're really good. You did Hair without me, right? Look – the best teachers don't give you the answers. They just point the way and let you make your own choices." He chuckled to himself, giving Kurt a long look. "My best friend told me that. And he's right."

"I'm really sorry, Mr. Schue," Rachel said.

"I know," he said, softly. "It's going to be okay. I'm going to take this as an opportunity, to get some things squared away out of town, this week. I'll be back before sectionals, but I won't be here to help you rehearse, and I can't attend with you anyway. But I _know_ you can do this. If you can't, I haven't done my job – and I'm pretty sure I have. I'll find you a replacement responsible adult to go with you as faculty advisor, but the rest is in your hands."

He met each of their eyes before picking up his coat and heading out. The whole club watched him go with a morose expression.

"You really think we can do it?" Mike whispered, glancing at Quinn.

"Absolutely," she snapped. "God, you guys are like a bunch of whipped puppies. What the hell? Are we going to win this thing or not?"

"I don't know," he said.

"Oh, come on," she said, rolling her eyes. "Mr. Schue said we're good, and he should know! He thinks we can do it. All by ourselves. We did that commercial – _we_ did. Kurt, and Finn, and Mercedes and Rachel, they did that Hair number. _All__ by __themselves._ We don't _need_ anybody but ourselves. This is what we've been training for all year. Are we going to let ourselves down just because we're scared?"

"No," spoke up Kurt. His eyes were alight. "We're not."

"That's right," said Finn, smiling at him. He stood up and took Quinn's hand. "We can do this, together."

The excitement swept through them, and suddenly their eyes were connecting, and instead of a bunch of kids standing around, they were together, one unit - like they were a team, like it was _possible._ Brit and Santana flanked Mike. Rachel linked arms with Mercedes, who was a bit surprised, but smiled at her.

Puck watched from the back, shaking his head, but he was smiling, too. "Dude," he said, across the group, and they all looked at him. "We've got our own fucking cheerleader. Nice going, Quinn."

She flushed prettily against the white and red of her uniform, and scowled at him. "Don't just stand there. We've got work to do."

* * *

><p>"Your dad's got a thing tonight?" Finn said to Kurt, lining up the wheelchairs from their Proud Mary number in the storage closet.<p>

"He said he was meeting with Sam and Dean's dad," Kurt nodded, wheeling the last chair in.

"Right; Tess – Mistress Tess – is going to meet with Carl," Finn said. "She said we should still plan to come, but that we should wait for her call before heading over." He grimaced. "She sounded pretty pissed off on the phone."

"You think she's going to…?" He cleared his throat delicately. Kurt hadn't yet met Dr. Howell, but the accounts from Finn and Puck had led him to two very different conclusions. Which meant he was unpredictable and not to be trusted.

"I don't know," Finn said, shrugging. "Maybe? I think she was, like, in charge of him, once. Maybe that never goes away."

"I can't imagine it going away," Kurt said, gazing up at Finn, and Finn's smile in the shadow of the storage closet door was intensely personal.

"Me either," Finn agreed. "I don't know if I could turn it off, now that it's part of who we are. Like, even when I don't mean to, it kind of comes out." He touched Kurt's face. "I wonder if anybody ever notices."

"I – think I notice it in other people, now," Kurt whispered. "Sometimes. Like I know the secret handshake. Things nobody else would notice, unless they… understand."

Finn gazed at him as Kurt backed reluctantly away. "I'll see you at my house for dinner," he said.

"Yes, please," Kurt nodded, touching his hand.

Puck was the only one left in the choir room, and he followed Kurt out to the parking lot, several steps behind. This time Kurt was alert for Karofsky or other dangers, but he only saw a few freshmen, lurking around the theater door, smoking. They made it to Kurt's Navigator before Puck approached him.

"That was one hell of a rehearsal," Puck said casually.

"Yeah," Kurt said, glancing around. The parking lot had a scattering of cars, but no people nearby. He relaxed a fraction. "I think we almost did better without Mr. Schue than with him."

Puck crossed his arms. "You think he's going to visit _him_ this weekend?"

"Toby?" he said. "It's possible." He resisted the urge to ask Puck just _what_ was in the letter, but his expression said it was significant.

"Mr. Schue," he said, shaking his head. "I guess I can't be that surprised."

"_Don__'__t__ – _" Kurt closed his eyes, holding out one hand. "Noah… do you know what _outing_ is?"

He smirked. "Like, one kind of belly button?"

"It's when you tell about someone being gay," Kurt said, through gritted teeth. "And it's _not__ cool.__"_ He glared up at him. "Understood?"

"Uh…" Puck looked startled at Kurt's vehemence. "Okay. Sorry."

"If Mr. Schue wanted anyone to know about him, and Toby," he continued, patiently, "he'd tell them. He'd tell us."

"Well, you should ask him, then," Puck said, "because I think he could use someone to talk to."

Kurt blanched. "You think he'd _want_ to talk to me?" Then he thought about how Mr. Schue had opened up to him at school. "Maybe. I mean, I'm just a kid."

"You keep saying that." Puck stroked the hair away from Kurt's face. "I don't think any of us are _just __kids_ anymore. If anybody gets this stuff about what Mr. Schue's dealing with, it's you." Puck considered this a moment, then added thoughtfully, "Or me."

"Well, maybe _you_ should talk to him, then," Kurt said, opening the door to his car.

"Maybe I will." Puck's grin was dangerous. "See you at home… baby."

Despite himself, Kurt couldn't stop smiling all the way back to Finn's.

* * *

><p>Tess gave John a fond smile. "You have fun with Burt, now." He opened the passenger door of his truck and handed her gently down. "I'll call when I'm ready," she added, and John could hear the hint of steel in her voice.<p>

She was precisely on time for the appointment the young men had set with Jesse, and she swept into the room, long skirt flaring as she rounded the sharp corner to the reception desk, carriage as upright as ever, her sleek black hair pinned up severely.

"May I help you?" said the girl at the desk - and then she _saw_the expression on Tess's face, and she looked like she wanted to climb right out of her chair and kneel on the floor. She averted her eyes. "Ma'am."

"Thank you," Tess said formally. "Dr... Howell is expecting an appointment. Would you be so kind as to show me in?" She was not impressed by the subservience, and frankly, she thought, it added a tick on Jesse's List, as she thought of it still.

"Oh," she said, flickering her gaze to the appointment software on her screen, and back across the desk to Tess's patient frame. "Um, forgive me, but it looks like he's meeting with -"

"With me," she said coolly. "Finn isn't able to accompany me; I prefer to speak with Dr... Howell..." came her suggestion, investing Jesse's name with the sarcasm she felt the boy deserved, "myself, if you please... Angela." She finally spotted the young woman's name plate on the counter, half hidden under a potted plant. "And kindly refrain from notifying him. A little surprise will be good for him."

Angela gulped and indicated the doorway, apparently frozen to the spot. "He's right through there, on your left."

Tess quirked an eyebrow at the girl.

"Ma'am," she added, hastily rising from her seat. She watched Tess carefully for cues as she stepped around her desk and showed her the way.

"Thank you, Angela," Tess said, with her customary grace. Tess didn't give the young woman time to react, as she grasped the doorknob and threw the door wide open, looming in the doorway.

"Angela," Carl began in irritation, taking off his glasses, papers spread out on the desk before him - and froze as he saw who was standing there.

"Up," Tess commanded, and waited.

The wheels on Carl's chair squeaked as he shoved it back, scrambling to his feet, his face ashen. "M-ma'am," he said, his voice breaking.

"And _here_," came the second order, as she pointed at her feet, not bothering to close the door behind herself. No matter, the girl had vanished.

He made it around the desk in record time, glasses forgotten on the blotter, and was on both knees before her, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "You - how -?"

"Perhaps you'd like to tell me," she purred, "Carl Jesse Howell, exactly what you were thinking when you treated an underage sub like your own property, with no release forms, no discussion - and _no__consent?__"_ She didn't have the time or the damn fucking patience to beat around the bush on this one.

"I - I didn't know - Davis, he was supposed to clear the forms with -" He paused; the look of confusion on his face was almost comical. "How did you know about that?"

"And since when do you take the word of another person, without verifying for yourself that a sub understands?" She didn't bother to allow him to answer the question - his query only verified his guilt in her eyes. "And for that matter, before you handled that sub, did you even _bother_ to verify a safeword," she thundered, though her voice wouldn't carry further than the room she stood in.

"Ma'am," he said, miserably, the guilt plain as day. "I - it didn't occur to me -"

"So you're telling me that Finn completed no consent forms during his appointment."

"We hadn't yet gotten that far," he admitted. "I thought - well, they were coming back this week... today, ma'am."

"Then what the _hell_ do you think you were doing, handling an underage sub, without consent, without paperwork, and for the love of all holy, not knowing his safeword?"

"God," he begged, "I'm - you're right, of course, I - I should have..."

"I seem to recall a certain procedure, Jesse," she said, voice low and quiet, "that we use when particularly egregious errors are committed. Perhaps you recall as well?"

Carl's white face went red, and a self-conscious hand went to his belt. "Ma'am," he said, agonized. "I can't... not here, _please.__"_

She looked Jesse up and down, eyes narrowed, gaze calculating. "_Stay,__" _ she commanded, and stepped down the hallway to the reception area.

"Angela," she said calmly. "We need some time to chat, the good doctor and I. Perhaps there's a set of errands on your to-do list? And the outer doors could perhaps be locked as you exit? I imagine an hour or so would suffice, young lady."

"Ma'am," she said, quickly, seemingly recovered from her earlier slip. "Yes, ma'am. I'll take care of it. Do you - does Doctor - I mean, can I get you anything?"

Tess gave the nervous young sub a gentle smile. "How lovely of you to offer, Angela. I must confess, I do have a weakness for a double mocha. I wouldn't want to be any trouble, my dear. It's very kind of you to accommodate me so prettily."

"Yes, ma'am," she breathed, eyes wide. "Right away, ma'am. I'll bring it - right in. An hour or so, you said?"

"Very well done, Angela. You're quite a credit to Dr. Howell. That will... serve... quite nicely," Tess suggested.

Angela managed to remember her jacket and her purse before she headed for the door, but then she hesitated, her hand on the glass. "Ma'am... if I might be so bold...?"

"Yes, please," Tess answered quietly.

"Dr. Howell... I'm not sure _exactly_ why you're here, but... I think I can guess. Anyway... I wanted you to know, he's... he's been good to me." She swallowed, not looking Tess in the eye, but she made herself continue. "I'm glad to work here."

"Angela. I shall be in town for several days. Perhaps you might be so kind as to accompany me for lunch? I'm glad to hear that you trust him, and I would like to hear more, if you would like someone to speak to."

Angela looked startled, but she nodded. "I would be honored, ma'am." She bobbed her head once more, then was out the door.

Tess smiled, watching the young woman exit. A nice testament to the decent young man that she knew Jesse to be, even if he had gotten himself into some particularly hot water this time. She strode back down the hall, hoping that he'd still be in the position that she left him.

Other than his bowed head, he was, but when she returned, his gaze snapped up to hers. "Ma'am," he said, his voice tight now.

"Yes?" she inquired expectantly.

His bearing reflected the formality of his own style, the one he required of his own subs. "I apologize for the slight against Finn and his... boys," he said. "I take full responsibility - it doesn't reflect on you or your training of me. This was my fault." He bowed his head again. "Ma'am."

She beckoned to him, asking him to rise, and looked him from head to toe as he obeyed. She reached forward, capturing his eyes, and unbuckled the - _oh,__ my__-_ quite thick and heavy leather belt. "Oh," she said, her voice soft, sultry, and dangerous. "But it does reflect, little boy." Her hand curled firmly around his wrist, twisting it almost gently behind his back, beginning the long march across the room to the couch she'd spotted against the back wall, ignoring the low table, as much as it tempted her. She let go of him, waiting for a moment to see if he'd bolt, the way he had the first few times she'd disciplined him, over twenty years ago.

She sat in the center of the couch. When no movement was forthcoming, she gave him a dangerous smile. "Drop your pants and your shorts, Jesse. _Now.__"_

His reaction was instantaneous, his tailored slacks slithering to his ankles, along with the boxer briefs he wore underneath. His breath came faster as he watched her guardedly.

"And _over,__"_ she commanded, indicating the swath of her lap. She did not offer an assist as she normally might, her temper just that strained, her belief in this boy needing to demand the exacting obedience. She was not disappointed; he remembered well the precise position she required of him, his knees just so, bent over her lap, his head resting on his arms, still clad in his professional attire.

Her cool hand swept his shirt tails up off of his bottom, and rested across the tense buttocks. "And perhaps you might remind me, Jesse, of your age?"

He took a sharp breath, then let it out, resigned. "Forty-six, ma'am."

"Hmm," she mused, remembering back to what he'd been like as a lieutenant, those twenty years before, where she'd never failed to double a punishment. "That seems to be a nice round number, doesn't it? Forty-six it is, young man." And she brought the leather cracking across his pale and flinching backside with a great deal of satisfaction. She'd damn well taught him better than this, and she would be certain that he'd remember it - for several days forward.

There was no way he could have _not_ reacted to the slap of his own belt against his unmarked flesh, but he made an admirable attempt. His head dropped, hanging loose against his chest, each strike prompting a grunt or a hiss, but little more - at first.

Tess laid down the first dozen with excruciatingly precise spacing, each stroke overlapping by an inch, the red streaks of reacting skin beginning safely under his tailbone and stepping regularly down to the tops of his thighs. There, she paused. "I believe that forty-six is fortuitous for several reasons. Reason number one, those boys are _underage_."

"Understood," he choked out. "Ma'am." His hands flexed on the firm leather of the couch, and he shifted slightly, probably reflexively.

"Excellent," she responded. She carefully eyed her target, shifting the angle of her arm so that the next dozen landed at a precise forty-five degree angle from the first, still exactly spaced to be an inch apart. The blows were quick, rapid, and she waited for the involuntary reaction that let her know the burn was setting in before speaking again. "Reason number two. You do _not,_absolutely _ever,_ touch a sub without the consent of that sub's dominant!"

"My - my regrets," he said, his face contorting. "It was - an oversight. Not something I would normally do, ma'am, please, know that."

The politeness was a pleasant change from the excuses he had so often offered her as a young lieutenant. She didn't grace him with a response, aside to shift her angle again to the reflecting orientation of the previous set. "We've also discussed how to run a club, how to run a business, Carl Jesse. That includes having a complete set of paperwork on each and every individual client that passes through your doors - which is what will keep your sorry behind out of jail if there's ever an issue, do you understand?"

He was the very picture of obedience, but Tess knew the obstinance that lurked inside that brilliant mind. On the other hand, his backside was probably burning hot by now, which would make it hard for him to attempt _any_ kind of response. "Ma'am, yes, ma'am," was all he offered.

She ran a cool hand lightly over the inflamed welts, watching him shiver under her touch. Not a word passed her lips - she overlaid the last ten promised stripes across the shadows of the first. "And, Jesse, I do believe that we've discussed... safewords... before, haven't we?"

"Yes," he said, in a voice like a moan. "Ma'am. Please."

"Perhaps I should take the opportunity to remind you of the importance of such things. Now, I'm quite aware that I don't need another dominant's permission to discipline you. I have the consent forms with your signature across them in my handbag, and as I checked before I came down here, there isn't a second set nullifying the agreement. You're not underage, so that's not an issue." She rested her hand on the flaming bottom over her lap. "Jesse, perhaps you'd be so kind as to remind me, what your safeword is?"

"Begging your pardon, ma'am," he said, sounding indignant, "but I believe you know very well what it is."

Tess' hard, callused hand cracked down on his backside a good dozen times. "I asked you a question, little boy," came the warning tone that he hadn't heard in years. "I suggest you answer."

"Yes - _ow__-_ yes, ma'am, please - _oww,__"_ he said, in a distinctly whiny tone.

"I don't recall any of those words being on the list," she suggested, smacking his bottom again.

"Amaranth," he ground out at last, and it was like a trigger; when released, the tears began, and she watched as he began a series of racking sobs that shook his entire body.

"Ah, there it is," she said calmly. "Perhaps we'll finish up here, then? Feel free to offer that word up, little boy, if you need to." With that, she picked the belt back up, and brought it cracking down across his backside. She paused, waiting until the rigid shock of the blow passed, and slapped another down, overlaying the previous welt. Tess shook her dark head, bringing another stern slap of the heavy leather down, and rather disbelievingly smacked the belt down a fourth time, just as severely. He'd be marked for days as it was, and as always, she'd leave the choice as to just how bad it might be to him -

"_Amaranth,_" he cried, giving in at last. "Ma'am, please..."

"Ah, there it is," she said, leaving the belt aside. "Now imagine if I hadn't known that word, and were simply going to continue on, with you having no idea how far I'd take this?" She patted his bottom firmly, knowing it would exacerbate the fire there, though it wouldn't leave any further marks.

"Your point is - well taken," he said at last, closing his eyes. He rested his cheek on the smooth surface of the couch, gulping back the remaining sobs. "I needed a reminder. Thank you."

Her hand slid underneath the fine cotton shirt, rubbing his back soothingly, just as she always had, watching the tears slide from his eyes, feeling the hitching of his breath, and - admiring the control that he was mustering even underneath the pain of discipline, and discomfort of wrongdoing, to be able to continue to communicate with her, rather than shutting down and acting out as he once would have.

"You're quite welcome, my boy," she said gently. "Breathe, now. When you're calm, we have quite a lot of discussing to do."

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed, wiping his face on his sleeve. "Quite a lot - and, may I say, though it's good to see you, I wish it had been under... different circumstances."

Her low, rich laugh filled the room, just as he remembered it. "I agree, my boy. Perhaps you might make some effort in that direction in the future. I have a limit to the number of unreturned emails or calls that I tolerate." Her hand gave just the lightest of pats, then resumed to soothing the abused surface of his behind.

"We've been inordinately busy, with regular business, as well as the alternative variety," he said, and even in the aftermath of the spanking, his voice was wry and warm. "Forgive me."

"Always," came her gentle reply, and she leaned forward to kiss his temple, even as she brushed the soft dark hair from his eyes. "Don't let it happen again, Jesse."

"No, ma'am," he said, just as gently. She could hear his smile. "I won't. You can count on it."

"Good. Now. Perhaps you might care to restore your shorts and trousers before that lovely little assistant of yours returns and discovers more than you might like?"

It was amazing how quickly a person could move, when properly inspired.

* * *

><p>Puck was just finishing the dishes when Finn's phone rang. He handed the last of the plates over to Puck and picked up with a nervous expression. "Uh, hello? Hi." <em>Tess,<em> he mouthed. "My evening's been fine, thank you, ma'am. Homework and dinner."

He came to sit at the table in his kitchen, and Puck watched him with one eye while he oiled the cast-iron skillet. "Yes, we could come over," Finn said. "My mom's out with Puck's sister tonight, and I guess Kurt's dad's having dinner with Mr. Winchester? Can you… is there anything we should expect?"

Finn listened as Kurt looked on from the counter leading to the dining room. "Okay. Thanks. We'll be right over." He thumbed the hang-up button and cleared his throat. "Well, we're on for meeting with Carl after all. She said he wants to talk with us. All of us." He looked pointedly at Puck.

"I guess," Puck said, feeling the fear in his stomach like a parasite, roiling in his gut. "I'll try not to fuck up."

"It couldn't hurt to listen to what he has to say," Finn said, holding out his hands, and Puck slowly crossed to him, letting Finn touch his back, draw him down to sit on his knee. "We'll be there with you. There's nothing to be afraid of."

"Dude, you weren't there," Puck said. "I'm pretty fucking sure there's _plenty_ to be afraid of." But he felt better, feeling Finn's touch, and he was able to breathe more easily when Kurt stroked his cheek and kissed him.

They climbed into the Navigator and drove the few blocks to downtown, parking beside the glassed-in wall. There were a few other cars in the parking lot, and when they approached the storefront, they could see Angela at the desk, unwrapping her coat and setting down a cardboard frame full of coffee cups marked with a big B.

Finn knocked on the glass, and she hurried over to unlock the door, letting them into the warm room. "Good evening," she said to Finn, with a little nod at Kurt and Puck. He smiled weakly at her. "M – Ms. Riordan said she was expecting you. They're in the back. May I take your coats?"

"Is he – mad?" Puck said to her in a low voice. She glanced at Finn, and then back at Puck in confusion.

"It's okay, Angela," Finn said.

"Um," she said, almost unwilling. "No, he's not mad." She wrinkled her brow at Puck. "You guys are weird," she whispered, ushering them into the back hallway.

Knocking softly on the door, they heard a man's voice say, "Come in," and she turned the knob.

Dr. Howell was sitting behind a large desk, gazing at them with calm assurance, but it was nothing beside the presence of the woman seated on the couch. She was older, judging by the lines on her tanned face, but very beautiful still, with dark hair pulled back from her face. She was wearing a long, form-fitting dress that swirled around her ankles. _Regal,_ was the first word Puck thought of, like a queen in an old fairy tale. _Badass,_was the second. He wasn't sure how to reconcile the two, exactly, but she didn't make him uncomfortable, and she didn't look away or seem upset as he met her gaze. Dr. Howell, on the other hand, he didn't look at directly, and he stood by the door, waiting for Finn and everyone else to precede him.

"Finn Hudson to see you, sir," Angela said. She brought the coffee to the woman first, and set the Styrofoam cup beside her on the table with a little head-bob that looked more ceremonial than nervous to Puck.

"Finn. Thanks for coming downtown." Dr. Howell's handsome smile did nothing to relax Puck, but Finn seemed comfortable enough, smiling back and reaching over the desk to shake his hand. "I hope this wasn't too late, on a school night."

"We knew to expect you," Finn said easily. "Our homework's all done, but we have to be home before eleven."

"This won't take nearly so long." Dr. Howell stood and circled the desk to stand in front of it, moving stiffly in a way that seemed familiar to Puck, but he couldn't quite place why. "May I present Tess Riordan, visiting from Iowa?"

"Nice to meet you, ma'am," Finn said, shaking her hand.

"The pleasure's all mind," she replied in a musical tone, rising smoothly and returning to the couch after clasping Finn's hand.

Dr. Howell cleared his throat. "This would be an appropriate time for you to introduce me to your… boys."

Puck watched Dr. Howell glance at the couch, just briefly. It was subtle, and someone might not have noticed it if they hadn't been watching for it – but Puck did, and Kurt did, too. The woman's head inclined very slightly, and Dr. Howell's shoulders straightened a little more. _Holy__ shit,_ Puck thought, blinking. _She__'__s __totally __in __charge__ of__ him._

"Sure," said Finn, coming around to gather Kurt and Puck in front of him. "Kurt Hummel; Kurt, this is Dr. Carl Howell."

"Hi," said Kurt softly, watching both Finn and Ms. Riordan for what to do next.

"I'm glad to meet you," Dr. Howell said. He didn't hold out his hand, but he did give Kurt a kind smile, and Puck noticed Kurt respond, turning pink. _Okay,__ yeah, __he__'__s__ hot._

Finn put a hand on Puck's back. "And this is… Puck. Noah Puckerman."

Dr. Howell's eyes flashed to Puck, and then away. "Yes… I remember."

_How __could __I__ forget?_Puck opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Ms. Riordan made a slight noise with her lips, a chiding sound, and he saw Dr. Howell stiffen in front of him. "Please," he said to Finn, no less politely, but with an edge to it, as though it was hurting him to say each word. "I would ask – your forgiveness for my behavior, in regards your boy. It was inappropriate. I would appreciate an opportunity to explain."

Finn looked at Puck, who returned his questioning look, equally startled. "Puck?" he said softly. Puck, steeling himself, nodded.

Dr. Howell approached Puck carefully, watching him. Puck felt the strange mixture of fear, desire and loss of self that he'd experienced in Dr. Howell's presence before, but he also sensed Finn's presence, and Kurt's, standing beside him, and – oddly – that of Ms. Riordan, calm and watchful. That made him feel more safe than he had in a long time.

"Puck," Carl said, meeting his gaze. His eyes were hazel, like Puck's, and they were just as kind as he'd remembered. _That__ made__ him__ more __scary,_ he thought. _What __did __Finn __say? __He__'__s__ like__ a__ predator__ – __dangerous, __but__ beautiful._

"Sir," he said, grateful his voice was steady.

"I made some… egregious errors, the first time we met," he said. "I know you are new to this, not to mention young… and it's been a long time since I worked with anyone who doesn't already know the way we do things here. I also was not aware you hadn't had an entry interview and had paperwork processed. This was my oversight; I can't blame anyone but myself." He did another one of those flickering glances at Ms. Riordan, who was watching impassively.

His eyes softened. "Perhaps my biggest mistake was to attempt to instruct you without permission from your dominant. It is standard practice to choose a safeword before entering into any kind of arrangement. I didn't consider that. You'll want to think on that; both of you." Before Puck or Kurt could even nod, he turned his eyes to Finn, and added, "And you."

"Yes, sir," Finn said, without hesitation, and Puck stared at him in bald shock.

"Quite right," said Ms. Riordan, in her silky voice. "It's wise to be prepared, before having experiences of this kind. One never knows what… surprises… might come up."

Puck felt a little nauseated at the thought of Dr. Howell doing _that_ to _Finn,_ but he swallowed his discomfort and, fumbling for Kurt's hand, echoed Finn's "Yes, sir." He added, "Thank you, sir."

"My point," Dr. Howell continued, "is that you must remember that these arrangements are _always _consensual – and if they are not, you are under no obligation to respond. None. Do you understand?"

Puck looked at Finn, hesitating, and at his nod, said, "Honestly, sir, I – don't think I could have said no to anything you did, even if I would have wanted to." _I__'__m__ not __at__ all __sure __I__ did __want __to,_ he could have added, but he figured that was enough for now. Dr. Howell's understanding smile said it all.

"You might be surprised to know I completely understand how that feels," he said. "As I told Finn, any good Dominant should know how to submit, and to appreciate the value of submission."

Kurt blinked a little, glancing at Tess, who was not bothering to conceal what was just the slightest of smirks - Finn would miss it for certain. Puck felt sure he was gazing at the older man like a mouse would look at a snake - just before being swallowed. He focused for a moment on Ms. Riordan, who was serenely reclining on the couch, her ankles crossed beneath the long skirt. He wondered how she managed to be that calm.

"I appreciate your willingness to listen," Dr. Howell said, with a gesture toward the couch. "Would you please have a seat, and we can continue our conversation in comfort?"

Finn nodded, and Puck followed him over to one of the leather chairs flanking the coffee table. Finn sat on the edge of the seat, patting the arm of the chair, and Kurt joined him. Puck, without thinking about it, sat on the floor by their feet. Tess smiled gently at them, and he felt warm all over, without knowing exactly why. Dr. Howell sat beside Ms. Riordan on the couch.

"We've had a bit of discussion about how things are for you, Finn, and this... new journey of yours," Dr. Howell continued, "but I think it might be good for each of your boys to have a chance to talk about their feelings, too. Ms. Riordan might be able to offer her own unique perspective on things, while she is here." He smiled at her. "You are lucky to have this opportunity to speak with her; she's been involved in arrangements like this for nearly 40 years."

"That sounds great," Finn said, offering Kurt his hand. Kurt looked like the word _great_ was not exactly what he thought of it - it was more like he was thinking _oh __shit, __I __have __to __talk?__-_ but he clutched Finn's hand and nodded.

Puck felt similarly uneasy, mostly at the prospect of having three - four, if he counted Kurt - dominant personalities focused on him while he attempted to continue telling the lie about his daughter. He was still a little shocked at himself for managing to get past the conversation in the hot tub with Finn and not be called out for his lie. It made him feel a little uncomfortable, to know he could pull the wool over Finn's eyes so easily.

"Well," Kurt said slowly, shifting on the arm of the chair, "it's all... very new for me, still. I'm a little bewildered by it all. But..." He looked at Finn, who pulled him closer, resting against his shoulder. "It feels _good._ Like I had no idea about this part of myself, but now that I do... I don't think I could ever do without it."

"I've been having dreams about this stuff as long as I can remember," Puck offered. He shrugged. "I didn't even know it was weird until I got to be a teenager and heard other guys talking in the locker room. Nobody _else_ wanted to be... uh, to have someone in charge of them. But - hell. There was so much going on in my head, I just kind of filed it away and focused on the normal sh- stuff."

"And how does it feel, Puck, now that someone is in charge?" The woman's voice was so quiet, low, they had to strain to hear her somewhat.

"I... I guess I feel... better," he said, taking the feelings from his heart and making words of them. "When Kurt came around, and I realized how I felt about him, it was like... he and Finn, they made me _better,_ sort of. Like they took this part of me that was broken all these years and made it okay. I felt better about myself. More - whole." He grinned at Kurt. "My missing pieces."

A gentle smile crossed Tess' face, and she laid an elegant hand atop Dr. Howell's briefly, her index finger tapping subtly on the back of his hand, and he colored, his lips curving into a smile of his own before he regained his calm expression.

"I'm curious, if you'll indulge me, what you are hoping to achieve with... Dr. Howell," she inquired delicately.

"Dean said he would be someone we could talk to," Finn said. "I think he thought that I needed a little guidance. Most of what we do, we just made up. I didn't even know other people _did_ this, uh, spanking stuff." He shrugged. "It just made sense, when Puck told me what he needed, that this was a way for me to give it to him."

Tess looked like she was repressing a smile. "So it's been more about fulfilling the needs of your partners - and yourself. Very commendable - and I perhaps understand why Dean might have felt you needed some guidance." The soft words touched all of them, though she was looking directly at Finn. "Certainly... Dr. Howell... is... qualified, you might say, to provide mentoring and guidance, to discuss the ins and outs of discipline relationships."

"Well," Carl coughed. "You are not the typical clients that I see in this aspect of my practice. Most of the men - and women - who come to see me are interested in submitting completely, often so much so that they almost give up who they are." He watched their faces carefully, examining the varied levels of response between them, and he carefully continued. "I have every sympathy for where you are in this relationship, not having a wide network of other similar relationships to look to. I would be honored to issue feedback and assistance where I can. As it's not my usual purview, perhaps Mistress Tess would agree to provide me with some oversight and guidance, if that's acceptable to you and your - to Kurt and Puck as well."

Puck saw, again, the glance that flitted between Dr. Howell and Ms. Riordan, and, with startling clarity, he _realized_ what had probably happened earlier on this very couch. The way Dr. Howell was shifting under Ms. Riordan's watchful glance just served to confirm it. _Dude._ He blinked up at Dr. Howell with a new level of respect. _If __he __can __take__ it __as__ well __as __dish __it __out..._

"Is that okay with you, ma'am?" Finn asked, looking at Ms. Riordan.

A slow smile crept across her features, transforming her into a surprisingly beautiful woman. "Thank you, Finn. That's very considerate of you," she said, that elegant finger tapping on the back of Dr. Howell's hand again. "I would love to."

"Yeah," Puck said softly. "That would be f- awesome."

Tess' eyes lifted directly to Finn's, one of those eloquent eyebrows raising ever so slightly, then glancing to Kurt as well. Kurt pulled a deer-in-headlights expression for just a moment, but then seemed to recover.

"The way things are with me and Finn - where he's in charge? - that's very different from the way Noah and I are," he said. "I wondered if other people did that, but I guess there's a word for it. Alex said I'm - a _switch?__"_

"That's right," Dr. Howell confirmed. "That term is often used to describe a person who performs both roles in an arrangement such as this."

Puck thought, with an inward shiver, of the way things had been with Kurt in their attic room, and the possibilities that had brought forth in him, of being a _switch_ like that, but they were a little too new, a little too raw, to bring up in front of people he wasn't fucking.

"It's a lot to think about," Finn said, stretching his long legs, "but I really appreciate your time, and the - apology. I feel a lot better about everything."

Ms. Riordan gave a satisfied nod, and her fingers trailed along the side of Dr. Howell's thigh before she folded her hands in her own silky lap. Puck saw him redden slightly and shift away from her before leaning forward to focus on Finn. "If you like, you can set up another appointment with Angela before you leave tonight. I'd be more than happy to continue our conversation another time."

"I'd like that," Kurt said, surprising Puck.

They all stood as one body, moving toward the door, the atmosphere notably more relaxed than it had been when they'd come in. "I'm glad I got to meet you," Finn said to Ms. Riordan, with a smile. "You're kind of awesome."

"Thank you," she replied gravely. "It's a pleasure to meet you and the boys as well."

Dr. Howell shook hands with Finn. Puck was disappointed and relieved at the same time when he didn't offer to shake his or Kurt's hands. They made their way back out to the lobby where Angela was waiting behind the desk. She gazed at them anxiously, obviously curious about what had happened, but there was no way she was ever going to ask.

"Nobody got spanked," Puck whispered to her, leaning against the desk. "At least... none of _us."_

"Oh, god," Angela said, turning scarlet, and hid her mouth behind her hand. "You're awful."

"Yeah," Puck confirmed, and they shared a grin.


	14. Chapter 14

_(Author's note: thanks to all the comments about Tess! Isn't she tremendous? She is entirely the creation and almost entirely written by Flynn Anthony. I give Flynn enormous gratitude for lending Tess to the Donutverse, and for co-writing these chapters with me. Carl Jesse needs her! And kudos to anyone who can guess why we chose Jesse as Carl's middle name... Enjoy! -amy)  
><em>

* * *

><p>First thing Thursday morning, Santana cornered Kurt in the hallway. He eyed her nervously, holding out his messenger bag as a shield. "Good morning?"<p>

"Okay," she said, foregoing a greeting, cocking a hip. "You've got the dish on Puck. I tried asking Finn, but he's as clueless as I'd expect him to be. And apparently you know him best these days. Tell me - what's going on with him?"

"Uh – why should I tell you?" Kurt said, his mind racing to keep up. "And why would I know –"

"Come on," she sighed, gesturing impatiently. "I know all about you three. Finn's gay; Puck's hot for him, yadda yadda. Old news. But _Puck_ – something's happening with him. He hardly says anything anymore. Sometimes he's actually paying attention in class, but sometimes he's just completely out of it." Kurt noticed, with a surprise, that her eyes were serious, anxious even, and he found himself softening. "You've got to tell me _something.__"_

"You know about me and -?" he stuttered, and she nodded.

"Finn and Puck." Her eyebrow was a weapon, and he felt it stabbing into his gut. _She__'__s__ smart,_ he thought uneasily. _I__ just __can__'__t __tell __if __she__'__s __an __ally __or __not._

"He's upset about his mom," he said slowly. "Sarah's staying back there with her, and I know he's not sleeping well. He's up in the night – um." He blushed, realizing that there was no way he could know that without having _been_ there in the night, but Santana didn't seem to notice or care. She leaned in more closely and dropped her voice.

"What's going on with the baby?"

"You mean, Quinn's -?"

She rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Hummel, are you going to make me go through _this_ whole thing? It's Puck's kid. Everybody knows. Well, everybody except Rachel."

"Quinn's giving her up for adoption," Kurt said. "That's all – right?" Suddenly he remembered his conversation with Quinn over the rule book, and what she'd said. _It__'__s __Puck__'__s __baby._

"Something," Santana said, "but I don't know what. Come on, you're doing him. Don't you know anything else?"

Kurt tried to ignore his flaming cheeks and think about the question. "The other day he and Finn went out on a d-date…" He whispered the last word, glancing around. "And they came home and… something wasn't right. Not anything I could put my finger on."

She heaved a sigh, pursing her lips. "Well, I guess I'll just have to keep digging. But he's not happy. Something's going on with him."

"I'm – he's going out with me on Saturday," Kurt said, and she grinned at him, surprised.

"Yeah? Well, maybe if he gets some, he'll feel better."

"Trust me, he's getting plenty," Kurt retorted. He was still embarrassed, but definitely _not_ willing to let Santana think she knew more about what _his_ Noah needed than he was. Her eyebrows flew up, and she took a step back.

"Hummel, the sex kitten? Tell me it ain't so."

He brushed past her, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and muttered, "You have _no_ idea."

* * *

><p>The choir room was almost empty when Kurt came in at the end of the day. "Where is everybody?" he said, glancing around.<p>

"Mr. Schue's gone," Mercedes said, leaning on the piano. "He said he wouldn't be back until next week, right? I think that means we don't get Glee rehearsal today. Well, unless Quinn shows up to whip us into shape again."

"I think she's feeling a little sick," said Tina, glancing at Artie. "Isn't she supposed to be past the morning sickness now?"

"You're asking _me?_" he said, incredulous. "I'd think I'd be the least qualified to answer that of any of the people here in this room."

"Uh, still a boy," Kurt said, waving his hand.

"Yeah, but you and Puck –" Tina cut herself off, hesitating, looking at Kurt. "I mean…"

Kurt furrowed his brow, watching Artie's knowing expression. "Tina," he protested. "You told Artie?"

"It's not a big deal, Kurt," Artie assured him. "I knew you were… _gay,_ and to tell you the truth? Not so surprised to hear about Puck." He shrugged. "Being in the chair, it's like being invisible sometimes. People do and say things around you, like they think you can't see or hear just because you can't walk."

Kurt swallowed. It was always unsettling to be outed without one's consent, no matter how well-meaning that outing was, but even more unsettling to know they'd done something to draw attention to themselves. "What… did you hear?"

"You really want to know?" Artie grinned. "One morning in the men's room…"

"Kurt!" Tina said, gasping and giggling with her hand to her mouth, and Kurt rolled his eyes.

"That must have been a long time ago," he said, trying to cover his embarrassment. "We've moved our base of operations twice since then. Good thing Finn –" He cut off, seeing Mercedes' desperate gesture of _no,__no._ He coughed.

"Finn what?" Tina asked.

"Oh, uh, Finn – never caught us. I mean, him being No-_Puck__'__s_ best friend and all." He saw Mercedes make a slow nod. _God,_ he thought with a shock. _I __never __told __Tina__ – __she __guessed __about __Puck, __but __she__'__d _never _guess __about __the __three__ of __us. __And __now __is _not _the __time._

Mercedes jumped in to change the subject. "Now that Mr. Schue's gone, who's going to take us to Sectionals?"

"I bet we get stuck with Mr. Sinacori," Artie said, looking glum.

"The creepy math teacher?" Tina said.

Kurt sighed. "He's always singing when he walks down the halls."

"Hey, guys," said Rachel, rushing into the choir room. They all looked up at her. "Did any of you think it was weird the way that Puck rushed to Quinn's aid during rehearsal yesterday?"

"Um, no," said Kurt, his heart sinking. Quinn had slipped on something and both Finn and Puck jumped to help her up. That hadn't been so strange, but Kurt had seen Finn's disapproving expression, and Puck's guilty cringe. He hoped Rachel hadn't spotted _that,_ because it would be a lot harder to explain than something about Puck's baby.

Artie nodded, adding, "I mean, he likes her. I mean, they're friends. We all know that."

"Yeah, but it seemed like more than that." She lowered her voice. "I've never told you guys this before, but I'm a little psychic. I can't read minds or anything yet, but I do have a sixth sense. Something is definitely going on there."

Mercedes backed away from the piano. "Uh, we… We got to go."

"We have to practice," Rachel protested.

"Oh, and we will, as soon as Mr. Schuester names a faculty advisor to replace him," Kurt said, hurrying out of the choir room.

"She's going to figure this out too quickly," Tina said. "But, seriously – is there anybody left who _doesn__'__t_ know it's Puck's baby?"

"There won't be, if she finds out." Kurt shrugged. "Rachel loves to talk, even if nobody's listening."

But Kurt spent the rest of the afternoon feeling anxious, like there were too many eyes on him. _Santana,_ he thought, _and__ Artie__ and __Tina, __at __least __partly. __Quinn. __Brad. __Mercedes. __Who __else __do __I __need __to __be __aware __of?_

As if by magic, Karofsky rounded the corner, walking straight at Kurt. His eyes burned into Kurt's grey coat. "Hey, Double Ace," he murmured as he approached, leaning in a little.

"What?" Kurt scorned, his lip curling.

"You know," he said, holding out two fingers. "In golf. It means two holes in one." He made a rude gesture between those two fingers, and Kurt looked away, blushing furiously.

"You've got something to say to me, Karofsky?" he hissed. "Just say it."

"Hey, I've got nothing to say to _you,__"_ Karofsky said, backing away the other way down the hall. His face was easy and teasing, but Kurt could feel the menace in his stance. "Maybe to one of your _boyfriends,_ though. I think I could have something _important_ to say to one of them."

"You leave them alone," Kurt said, too loud, and covered his mouth before he could stop it. _Confirmation,_ he thought, with a cold shiver. _I__ just __handed __him__ the __loaded __gun._

"Or else what?" Karofsky's grin was cold. "You going to tell somebody? Who'd listen to you? Being a fag, that's one thing, but I bet you'd get kicked out of school for something that kinky… or sent to reform school."

Kurt took a few steps back, trying to think of a suitable retort, but coming up empty. "They haven't done anything to you," he said finally.

"That's where you're wrong, Hummel," he shot back, angry now. "They've done _plenty. _And now that I know _they're_ fags too, I bet I can come up with some more appropriate ways for them to pay for it."

"What the hell – what's that supposed to mean?" Kurt said, but Karofsky just showed his two fingers, like a peace sign, and slouched away.

Kurt put a hand over his chest. His heart felt like it was going to leap right out and onto the floor. _Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Can this get any worse?_ He was afraid to ask the question.

* * *

><p>Kurt jumped and nearly hit his head on the hood as arms came around him from behind. "Relax, baby," Puck said, holding his hands up in surrender. "It's just me."<p>

"Puck - in the middle of the _shop?__"_ Kurt hissed, looking around, but no one was there except them.

"Your dad's in the office," Puck said, shrugging. "He doesn't care, right? So why should we?"

"I don't know." Kurt relaxed his shoulders and tried to forget about it.

Puck poked his head under the hood and touched the belts Kurt was loosening. "What's up with this car?"

"It's making a squealing noise. Probably the serpentine belt. I'm going to check for cracks or frays, and make sure none of the pulleys are misaligned." Kurt sighed.

"Okay, _something__'__s_ getting at you, and I doubt it's the serpent-thingie in this car." Puck's hands returned to Kurt's back, rubbing his shoulders. "Dude. Relax. What's up? Is it about Dr. Howell?"

Kurt put a hand on Puck's hand, feeling his fingers working at his muscles. "No," he sighed, leaning into the touch. "Karofsky – today, at school. He was… awful. He definitely knows about us."

"Mmm," Puck said. "So he knows. So what? He's just an asshat. His asshattery can't really touch us."

He shook his head. "Mercedes said something last week. After Glee. It was - she doesn't like that we're hiding our relationship. She says it's not good for us."

"Yeah, I'm totally in agreement with her," Puck said. "It sucks."

"So, she thinks we should come out. Just do it."

"Okay," Puck said.

"Noah," Kurt said, turning around to face him, "do you understand what I'm saying? Being out at school. It would be _worse_ than things are for me now, and you've seen what _that__'__s_ been like. You and Finn - you'd go to the bottom of the social ladder. You'd -"

"Kurt," Puck said, gripping his biceps and giving him a little shake, with barely disguised impatience. "I said yes. I mean it. The three of us together - we can do anything. Whatever anybody else thinks, just fuck 'em. We're the ones who get to live with our choices. And right now? Choosing to pretend-beat-you-up every day kind of blows. And not in a good way."

"You have no idea what you're talking about, Puck," Kurt said, his voice shrill. He stopped, and took a breath.

"Are you ashamed of me?" Puck asked.

"What?" Kurt shook his head. "No! Why would you -"

"Because _I__'__m_ the one who came in here wanting to give _you_ a fucking hug, Kurt," Puck said, "and _you__'__re_ the one who flinched and told me to put a sock in it. That sure looks like shame to me." He cocked his head. "So, if you're not ashamed of me... who are you ashamed of? I don't think it's Finn."

"No," said Kurt. He ran his hands through his hair before he realized he had oil all over his hands. "Crap," he said, in frustration.

"What's going on out here, guys?" Kurt heard his father call, and Kurt looked at Noah with desperation, shaking his head: _Don__'__t__ say __anything_.

Puck held out his hands, perplexed. "Why not? Your dad is awesome. What's going on with you, man?"

Burt walked into the room, wiping his hands. "What's the problem? I heard shouting."

"Mercedes thinks we should come out at school, the three of us," said Puck. "We were talking about it." He glared at Kurt. "Kurt doesn't think it's a good idea."

"It's a terrible idea," Kurt said, glaring right back. _"__I__'__m_ the one who's out. You have no idea what you'd be setting yourself up for."

Puck rolled his eyes. "Yeah? What's the hardest part of your day, Kurt? Getting slushied? Or all the effort you go to ignoring me and Finn, all day? Wouldn't it be easier to deal with the shit if you'd just let us _help?__"_

"Hold on," said Burt, putting a strong hand on each one's shoulders, turning them to face the wall. "Calm down. You guys are getting worked up over nothing. You're both on the same side here."

"I'm starting to think we're not," said Puck. There was more than a little anger in his voice, and Burt's eyebrows went up. "Go on, you tell him, Kurt. What would your friends at school think if you suddenly started walking around with _me_ as your boyfriend? They'd think you were out of your gourd. So who's really going to be hurting here, if we came out? Huh?"

"Noah," Kurt said in a weak voice, trying to turn aside under their collective stare, but Puck was already wheeling away. He slammed a fist into the wall and glared at Kurt.

"I know I'm not much of a catch," he said, low and furious. "But _I'm _ready to tell the world about us. You can come find me when _you_ are."

Kurt watched him storm off, helpless. Burt's hand tightened on Kurt's shoulder, and Kurt found himself folding into his father's arms, choking out sobs, as Burt murmured, "It's gonna be okay, Kurt, he was just – "

But Kurt shook his head miserably through his tears. "He's been _just_ for the past week, and it's getting worse. I don't know what to do."

"Maybe he's right," Burt said, and Kurt jerked back his head, astonished. "I'm serious, Kurt. I'm the first one to stand up and say your safety comes first. But it doesn't sound like you're feeling particularly _safe,_ keeping this secret." He pointed at the door through which Puck had disappeared. "That boy, he loves you. It's pretty damn clear he's willing to help you deal with some of the grief you get, being who you are. I think that might be worth considering."

"Dad," Kurt said, his voice breaking, "I can't – how can I willingly expose Noah to that? I _know_ how bad it can get. I _know._ He doesn't deserve it. Nobody does."

"Kurt, _you_ don't either," Burt said, clearly aggravated. "You are my son. I love you and I want you to be happy. Why _won't_ you let Puck and Finn help with that?"

Kurt just shook his head again. _Because letting them help means setting myself up for more pain,_ he couldn't say. _Because seeing them hurting is worse than hurting, myself. _

* * *

><p>Burt found Puck, after some hunting, in the Hummel kitchen, making dinner. "You're a hard man to find," he said, trying to keep his voice light. Puck just gave him a glum look.<p>

"I don't feel much like a _man_ right now," he said, pushing the pan on the stove with a resentful shove. "I feel like an asshole."

"Yeah, well, nobody expects you to be perfect." Puck didn't stop bullying the cookware, but Burt thought he saw the lines in his face relax a little. "Least of all Kurt. He just doesn't want you to get the same kind of attitude that he gets from the kids at school. He wants to protect you."

"I _know._" Puck's hands went to the handle on the oven and clenched there, holding himself up. "He gets to do that for me – but I want to do it for him, too, and he's not letting me." He looked miserable.

"Hey," Burt said, softly, and laid a hand on his back. He could feel the tension, like a compressed spring, and he said again, a little louder, "Hey. I don't think it's a question of _letting__ you._ You just have to do it. Find a way to take care of him that won't send him into a diva fit." Burt squeezed Puck's shoulder. "And maybe he isn't ready to walk down the hallway holding your hand. That doesn't mean he's ashamed of you."

Puck hesitated, then sighed, and Burt felt the spring uncoil a little more. "Okay. Yeah. It's just hard for me to remember why he… loves me at all, sometimes."

"Love's a funny thing." He gestured at the pan. "This for John Winchester and Tess Riordan?"

"Yeah, and for Finn and Kurt, for their date night. They'll take it over to Finn's when it's done."

Burt watched as Puck poked at the fish with his spatula, and an incredible smell wafted up from the pan. "What are you cooking?"

"Nothing too fancy," Puck said. "Salmon, with black trumpet mushrooms and horseradish."

_Nothing __too __fancy. __Jesus._ Burt shook his head. "Dinner in the Hummel house hasn't _been_ so fancy, Puck, not since Elizabeth was alive. I make a lot of casseroles and fried chicken, and I won't admit the amount of boxed pasta that makes its way into our meals."

"I don't mind cooking for you guys," Puck said, his eyes coming up to Burt's. Even now, he still looked like he thought Burt might break out and yell at him any second. It made Burt's heart ache. "It's not a problem. I like it. You know… anytime."

"I know," Burt said. He smiled, as gently as he could, and indicated the fish. "This – it's great. But that's not why _we _love you, either."

Puck's face went red, but he didn't look away from Burt's gaze. "I don't get it," he admitted.

"You don't have to," Burt shrugged. He squeezed Puck's shoulder again. "But you might consider apologizing to Kurt, for earlier. He's watching Barbra Streisand movies downstairs, and that's never a good sign."

Puck nodded. "I can do that."

"All right. Then after dinner - I bet you have some homework to do?"

"Uh," Puck said, blinking. "I guess."

"You guess? You'll have to do better than that." Burt pinned him with a glance, and Puck was forced to nod.

"Some math, and Spanish translations. And, um, a history paper."

"Well, I'm no brain surgeon, but I'm pretty good at math, and I bet Carole can help with the Spanish and the history. We'll be talking with Mr. Winchester and Ms. Riordan, but we'll still be around, if you need a hand."

Puck's shoulders were almost entirely relaxed now. He nodded again. "That sounds… good, man. Thanks."

_His__ smile __is __just __like __Sarah__'__s,_ Burt suddenly thought as he hugged him. _And __he __barely __trusts __me __to __help __with __homework. __God__ – __what__'__s _her _life __going __to __be __like __in __five __years __if __I__ can__'__t __help __her?_

* * *

><p>Puck ran into Finn coming in through the garage. "Here," he said, handing over the canvas bag. "Dinner, dancing and a movie."<p>

"Uh," Finn said, nearly fumbling the bag. "Thanks?"

"Dinner's in the container at the bottom," he clarified, "and the dessert's on top of that. Don't freak out just because it has mushrooms in it. It's fucking awesome."

"Mushrooms for _dessert?__"_ Finn said, wrinkling his nose. "Dude."

"No, really," Puck insisted. "Okay, and the dancing – there's a CD. You guys can, you know…" He made a little circular motion with his hand. "Dance."

Finn's face went from distasteful to anxious. "I don't dance."

"You can _slow_ dance," Puck assured him. "Even you can't mess that up. Your hands go around her… uh, his… waist; his hands go around your neck; you wander around to the music until you start making out. Easy."

"I don't dance," Finn said again, glancing at Kurt's closed door. They could hear the shower running in the bathroom. "Really. I'm going to step on his feet and he's going to get pissed, like every girl I've ever danced with!"

"Dude, that's why you _have_ to dance with him," Puck said patiently. "He'll never expect it, because he knows you're a terrible dancer."

Now Finn looked hurt. "Thanks."

"Right," Puck persisted. "So he'll be totally impressed. It'll be perfect." He motioned for Finn to set down the bag and wrapped his hands around his neck. "Come here. Put your hands on my ass."

Finn did, hesitantly. "I thought you said his waist."

"Start at his waist, then he won't think you're being too familiar." He leaned Finn to one side in an exaggerated motion. "Step on each beat of the music, just back and forth; you don't have to do more than that."

"What music?" Finn said softly, watching Puck's face. His mouth made a little smile, and it was having a funny effect on Puck's breathing. Puck huffed, irritated.

"Dude, I'm not fucking singing to you. You'll have to hear it in your head."

"How are we supposed to dance without music?"

"I told you; there's a CD in the bag. Play it." Puck let his fingers comb through the hair on Finn's neck, eliciting a pleased noise. "And check it out; you haven't stepped on my feet yet."

"Huh," Finn said, glancing down. "Just good luck, I bet."

"I'm your good luck charm," Puck suggested, unable to resist any longer, and tugged Finn's mouth down to his.

"What happened to dancing?" Finn whispered.

"Means to an end," he explained, between kisses. "It's just a way for you to get into his pants."

There wasn't any talking for a while, until the door to Kurt's bedroom opened. They didn't even look up from each other until Kurt placed his hands on their backs. His tone was amused. "Funny way to start a date."

"Sorry," Puck said, pulling away with an effort. Finn leaned his head against Puck's for just one moment before looking over at Kurt - and stared, mute.

Puck whistled appreciatively. "All right, Finn, you're _definitely_ going to have to dress up for _this_ date," he said, looking Kurt up and down.

"Uh," said Finn, in a hushed voice. "Wow."

Kurt smiled, wide and unabashed, his blue eyes sparkling, and Puck sensed Finn reacting to that smile the same way he was. "Yeah," said Puck, dropping his voice. "Why don't you go take this stuff out to the car, dude, and I'll… wait here with Kurt."

Finn chuckled, running a hand over Kurt's fitted blazer. It had probably cost more than their television set, but _damn,_ did it look good on him. "Don't take too long," he said, picking up the canvas bag and carrying it carefully through the door to the garage.

Puck traced the line of Kurt's shoulder, down his slim biceps to his bare forearms, and watched the goosebumps form on his pale skin. "I'm sorry, baby," he whispered. "About what I said in the garage. I… I know you're not ashamed of me."

"God, Noah," Kurt said, pressing in close to Puck's chest. _"__No._ Not even a little bit. I'm not ashamed of being gay or of being with you, or Finn. Both of you – if anything, it's _me_ who should be worried about that."

"Fuck that," Puck protested. "Look at you. You're the hottest thing on two legs."

Kurt colored in a way that managed to make him even more appealing. "I thought about what you said," he said. "About… being out, at school." He bit his lip, looking up at Puck through his lashes. "I don't think we should until you've got things straightened out with the social workers. You and Sarah."

_Of __course __he __was __right_. Puck sighed. "I got it. I don't want to wait, but – I can. Whatever you want."

"What I _want__…"_ Kurt took a handful of his shirt and pulled him close, noses touching, making Puck's pulse climb alarmingly. "I want you and me to go out this weekend," he said quickly. "On a real date. Somewhere we can be… ourselves."

"Ourselves?" Puck echoed. Kurt's belt had a silver design worked among the leather. He traced it with one finger, gazing down.

"Together," Kurt said. He followed Puck's gaze, and leaned in, slowly rotating his hips against his jeans-clad leg. "Take you dancing. Dress you up."

Puck thought for a moment his heart might stop entirely, but luckily it continued to beat, even after the moment in which Kurt had said he wanted to _dress__ him__ up_ and _take __him __dancing_ had passed. "O-okay."

"I'm going to have to ask my dad," Kurt continued, still making that small, slow circle on Puck's knee. Puck could feel Kurt's arousal through his tight pants, and he grabbed his ass and forced a collision, making them both make a small, anticipatory noise.

"I'll try, tonight," Puck said. "I think he might say okay, if I tell him it's my way of saying I'm sorry for today."

"You want that?" Kurt whispered. "You really want that with me?"

"Yeah, baby," Puck nodded. He ran his hands down the side of Kurt's legs, pulling him closer. "I want to."

Kurt took one more tentative breath, then kissed Puck and stepped away. "Okay."

Puck gripped his hand briefly, then let him go. "Have a good night. Hope you like what I have for you in the bag."

"I can't wait, sweetheart," he said, flashing that incredible smile, and was gone.

* * *

><p>Burt took the last bite of his third sweet Forest Nameko custard tart and shook his head. "Damn. I never would have guessed these things had mushrooms in them."<p>

Puck smiled and waggled his eyebrows, stacking the dinner dishes on one arm. "Pretty awesome, huh? Those were for Kurt, really. He has this thing for mushrooms."

"He's not the only one, young man. That was deliciously spectacular, Puck, thank you. What a lovely surprise!" A warm smile graced Tess' face.

"I'm glad you liked it," Puck said softly, looking suddenly shy. "I've - uh, I have homework to do, if you'll excuse me." They watched Puck grab his backpack and disappear down the stairs to the basement, presumably to set up in front of the green couch the boys had apparently adopted as their favorite place to study.

John met Burt's eyes frankly. "That one's a challenge, isn't he," he said, nodding to the doorway that Puck had vanished through. "Reminds me of both of my sons, actually." He winced, with a glance at Tess, who nodded fervently.

"Yeah, well..." Burt took a pull on his beer and sighed. "He hasn't had a father figure in his life, not since he was nine. And even then, his father wasn't much to speak of. But he's a good kid, really."

John nodded. "I can see that. You had my brats under your roof for a while; I'd figure you're a pretty good judge."

Burt wrinkled his brow at the word _brats._He never would have applied that term to Dean or Sam; in the time they'd stayed at his house, they'd been nothing but courteous and respectful guests. "Finn seems to keep him in line pretty well," he offered, pouring Tess another glass of wine. She stopped him at half a glass with an outstretched hand.

John smiled again, and glanced knowingly at Tess, his hand curling around hers comfortably on the surface of the table. "We know how that works," he rumbled in a comfortable tone.

"I'm not exactly sure I do," Burt admitted, "but it _does_ seem to work. Honestly, I don't know if I want to know the details."

"It's a policy of mine to not ask - ever," John said decidedly. "The fact of the matter is, the boys manage to steady one another better than I was ever able to, dealing with them separately. They're stronger as a team, for sure."

Burt nodded in agreement. "They sure seem to be. They're good boys, your two. I was glad to have them in the house. Kurt took a liking to Sam, in particular. I always thought Kurt could use more guy friends."

John nodded. "Sam's that way. He's the people person, knows how to talk to folks. Dean, well..."

"Hold it right there," Carole said from the door to the kitchen, drying her hands with a towel and smiling wryly. "You'd better not be about to say something bad about Dean. Because I know exactly who he is: he's _me,_twenty years ago."

Tess laughed, a delighted look on her face. "A woman after my own heart. Dean's a rebel - I imagine Puck's set to follow in his footsteps. Can I give you a hand with that, Carole?"

"I'd appreciate it," Carole said. "I must admit we're getting pretty spoiled around here, with Puck cooking for _and_ cleaning up after us most nights." She shook her head ruefully. "He likes to take care of things, and we mostly get in the way when we try to help. I've just given up offering."

Tess rose gracefully, a hand lingering lightly on John's shoulder as she walked gracefully to the kitchen doorway. She shook her head. "Well, I understand what it's like to be surrounded by rampant individualists," she said, with a fond glance at John as she disappeared into the kitchen. "I'm happy to help."

Burt regarded John with amusement. "She's... something else," he said, nodding to the door.

John winked at the other man. "Sounds like you're qualified to comment," he suggested.

Burt felt his face heating up, and he glanced away with a grin. "Well," he said. "Yeah. I think - this might not be the first time two single parents have started dating because of their kids dating, but maybe the first time _three_kids have gotten two parents together." He sighed, running his hand over his head under his ballcap. "We're still pretty new. And with Puck's unstable family situation, and the boys being together, we're trying to take it slow."

"I've known Tess for over twenty years now," John murmured quietly. "It took the boys meeting her - completely by chance - and loving her as much as I have, to get me to relax enough to recognize what I was feeling. A second relationship… Mary was the light of my life. It wasn't easy."

"You know, I get that," Burt said, nodding. "I never thought I'd find someone who could fill my heart the way Elizabeth did. She's still on my mind, all the time." He grinned. "But I think she'd really have liked Carole."

John's keen glance caught Burt's eyes. "Yeah. Me too. And the boys," he said, hesitating. "It hasn't been easy to realize they were both... oriented... that way. And then, the two of them..." He trailed off.

"I bet," Burt sympathized. "I've known about Kurt since he was three. But - honestly, I don't think anyone could take one look at Kurt and _not_ know he's gay. He's a great kid, don't get me wrong. I couldn't be more proud. But... it took me a while to get to the point where I could look myself in the mirror and say _my __son __is __gay_ without flinching."

John grunted. "I don't think I've ever said it. I could just... _see..._that the two of them were stronger together - how much they love each other - support the other one - and how the hell could I object to something that made my boys - _my __boys,__" _ came the fierce growl, "not only stronger - but calmer, happier..."

"Exactly," Burt said, stabbing a finger at John. "I thought the same thing when I saw Kurt with Finn. He's an upstanding young man, that Finn. I figured, so what if he's a guy? What does that matter?" He shook his head. "Puck... well, he's another thing entirely. But damn, he does make Kurt happy. I can tell. It's pretty amazing, how they manage, the three of them."

"Dean and Sam both spoke highly of all the boys. Dean seemed to empathize with Puck and Finn - and Sam talks about Kurt a lot."

"Yeah?" Burt smiled, thinking of that. "They made a big impression on my son. You're all welcome, any time. Consider it a standing invitation, whenever you're in the area, hey?"

John laughed. "If Kurt's as smart a cookie as Sam suggested, you're in for a hell of a ride. I appreciate it - and if you ever find you need a hand, I'm pretty mobile."

They exchanged a look of understanding. _Surrounded__ by __gay __boys, __and __girls,_ thought Burt, _it__'__s __nice __to __have __a __talk __with __another __father __who __knows __where __I__'__m__ coming __from._

* * *

><p>Tess looked at Carole, smiling as she hung the dishtowel over the rack. "I wouldn't mind a chance to thank Puck," she said. "That was the best treat I've had in a while, someone with skills that advanced in the kitchen - and at his age!"<p>

"He's quite the chef," Carole agreed. "I'm sure he'd love to hear from you how much you enjoyed it. You can find him around the corner and down the flight of stairs by the door."

Tess descended the stairs, pausing at the foot, not wanting to startle the young man who was obviously wrestling mightily with the books spread out around him in a half circle on the floor.

"Puck," she said softly, not wanting to startle him - it had clearly been a long day for the boy.

He blinked up at her, and smiled. "Ma'am," he said, in quite a different tone than he'd used with her upstairs.

"Yes," she said, gently. "I wanted a word with you, if you feel you can take a small break from studying. If not, we'll speak another time, Puck."

"Ma'am," he said, scrambling to his feet, "any excuse to stop studying is a good one. Talking with you? Better than good."

She chuckled. "Flattery will get you nowhere, young man." She seated herself on the comfortable looking green couch, at arm's length from him - close enough that she could speak quietly with him, but not so close as to be threatening - he'd had quite enough of that from her brat already.

He looked startled, then uncomfortable. "Uh - sorry," he said. "I didn't realize... I mean... I was just..." His shoulders went up to his ears as he perched on the long side of the couch. "Shit. Sorry."

"Hush. I appreciate the sentiment. And mind your language, if you please, Puck."

His flushed face went redder, and he rubbed his mouth with two fingers. "Yeah. Kurt says I've got a potty mouth."

"And I would tend to agree with him, though you did a commendable job catching yourself in the office earlier. Carl mentioned to you that I've been at this for a long time, Puck. I've... mentored, for want of a better word, a great many young men, like yourself." Her grey eyes regarded him steadily. "Sweetheart, last night you said that your relationship with Finn and Kurt makes you whole. Yet you're holding something back." She left it there, for the young man to decide whether or not he wanted to admit things out loud.

Puck balked at the term _sweetheart,_ but he didn't comment on why, just folded in a little closer on himself, avoiding her eyes. "Yeah," he said, low. "It's... I can't tell Finn. He said... he said he'd..." He took a shuddering breath and bowed his head, the tension evident in his posture and his face.

She reached out, very slowly and carefully, and brushed a gentle hand over the boy's mohawk. _Such __a__ peacock, _she thought, _and __so__ terribly __sensitive._ "You can tell me, if it will help, sweetheart. It won't go further than this room, I promise."

"I can't," he protested, clearly conflicted. "I - I just can't."

"Noah, you _can._ It's not healthy for you - or your partners - to keep something that hurts you inside this much to yourself - it will be just between you and I, sweetheart." She used the term deliberately, very aware of the way he'd reacted the first time she'd uttered the word.

He clenched his eyes shut, shaking his head back and forth, but upon hearing the last _sweetheart,_ he lost it, mouth loose and trembling with the repressed sobs. "God," he gasped, his voice hoarse and ragged. "I'm so f- I'm just so scared. He's gonna leave me."

"He loves you and cares for you very much, Noah. What could be so bad that you would think that Finn would leave you?"

It was several long moments before he could speak. "My - daughter," he said at last, in a monotone. "She's due in May. It was Davis, Dr. Howell's partner; he helped me sign the paperwork. She's mine, now. But Finn said... Finn said I couldn't do it. He told me I couldn't have her. He said I had to choose between him... and her." His eyes were pleading. "But I _have __to_ take care of her_._ She's _mine._ I'm her Papa."

Tess smoothed the soft hair at the back of his head gently. "That's not a choice anyone should have to make, Noah. Look at me," she said, waiting until his eyes lifted to hers. "This is your decision, Noah. From start to finish. The decision to claim your daughter. The decision to be Finn's partner, and the decision to obey him. You need to do what is right for you." She emphasized the last word, touching a gentle finger just over his heart.

He flinched back just a little at the touch, but his eyes were wide and open, and he seemed to breathe a little easier afterwards. "I'm just feeling like I don't have a choice," he said, looking defeated. "Not any good ones, anyway."

"Sometimes there aren't, my dear. Sometimes you have to make what looks or feels like the best decision, even if it's a close call. I hope it won't come down to you having to choose, Noah." She stroked the back of his neck softly, and he leaned into her touch, clearly taking comfort in it. "I would like you to know that whatever choice you make for yourself, you may consider yourself a friend of mine. Please, Noah, call me if you need someone to talk to."

"Thank you," he whispered, and without warning, he launched himself at her middle, wrapping his arms around her in a surprise hug, gripping her tight in his powerful arms. "Thank you so much."

Tess smiled gently, arms tightening reflexively and protectively around the lapful of boy. She held him firmly, hand still soothing the fine hairs at the back of his neck, waiting until she felt his tense breaths ease a little as she cradled him. "You are very, very welcome, Noah. It's my pleasure."


	15. Chapter 15

_(Author's note: Warning for sweet Kurt/Finn boysex, and mushrooms. Not_ that_ kind. -amy_)

* * *

><p>"It's so nice to have the house to ourselves," Kurt said, closing the door firmly behind him. "I mean, I love everyone together, but sometimes it's nice to have a quiet evening at home."<p>

"I've been looking forward to this all week," Finn agreed. He smiled at Kurt, feeling oddly shy. "The last time we had a date here, it was all three of us. Remember?"

"Every moment," Kurt said quietly. His hands slipped around Finn's waist and caressed his back. Finn could feel the tension in Kurt's slim frame starting to drop away.

"What happened with Puck at the garage?" he asked. "Burt was looking for him earlier, and it sounded serious. Are you guys okay?"

"Yes, we're all right." Kurt lay his head on Finn's chest and sighed. "Today, it was one person after another, asking questions about us – not all bad, just intrusive. It seems like we're a pretty poorly kept secret these days."

"I guess all secrets come out eventually." Finn stroked his head, appreciating the silky softness of his hair under his fingers. "You said – not all bad? What happened?"

"Karofsky." The word came out grim and brittle, like its edges would cut if he wasn't careful. "He went fishing for confirmation about us, and, like a fool, I handed it to him. I guess he knew, anyway. He – he threatened you guys."

Finn stiffened. "What did he say he was going to do?"

"He didn't. That was the worst part. I just wish I could…" Kurt's head came up. "Finn. I think – I think we should tell Mr. Schue. About us."

"Really?" Finn imagined his reaction. "Mr. Schue hasn't always been so supportive of you. I don't know how he'd feel about the three of us. You don't think it would be a problem?"

"I think we need an ally who's a teacher, besides Brad," Kurt clarified. "I have the feeling… I mean, that letter… I didn't read it, but Noah did, and he said…" He felt himself redden. "He didn't say, but I kind of guessed. I'm pretty sure he and his friend Toby, that they're… more than friends."

"Wow," Finn said, blinking. "Mr. _Schue?_ What about his wife?"

"He could be bi," Kurt offered. "Like Noah. But he told me he and his wife are getting a divorce. That's why he slept on that mattress in the choir room."

Finn took Kurt's hand and tugged him into the dining room, setting the canvas bag on the table. "Well, if you think it would be a good idea. Do you want me to tell him?"

"I can – or Noah said he might." Kurt started taking things out of the canvas sack. There was a paper bag, folded over with a note on it that said _Do not open until you listen to the CD._ The CD was unmarked except for the words _Finn and Kurt_. Dinner was in three Tupperware containers, one containing the salmon, a second with steamed broccoli and almonds, and the third with some kind of custard tarts. Kurt smelled them and smiled approvingly. "Mmmm."

"He said they were made with mushrooms," Finn said dubiously, poking at them with one finger. "I don't know. I think I'll let you try them first."

"How gallant of you," Kurt smirked. "But – Mr. Schue… Noah said he thought _he_ might need someone to talk to. He was pretty upset the other day, and I asked him what was wrong, but he said it was too personal. Maybe if we told him about us, he'd feel more comfortable talking to us about himself."

"He's friends with Brad," Finn pointed out. "Can't he talk to him?"

"Maybe not." Kurt shook his head. "Brad's straight, or so I'm assuming. Who did you come to when you had questions about your own attraction to a boy? Me. Maybe we can do the same for Mr. Schue."

Finn grinned at Kurt and touched his cheek. "Maybe we shouldn't make too many comparisons between you and me, and you and Mr. Schue. I don't think I want you guys falling in love."

Kurt choked, his eyes wide and incredulous, gazing up at Finn. _"Mr. Schue?"_

"Hey, he's pretty good-looking," said Finn. "You don't think so?"

"_No,"_ Kurt said firmly, but his face was red. "He's _old._ Like, maybe not as old as my dad, but closer to that."

"Puck told me Alex is thirty-seven," Finn said, shrugging. "I bet Dr. Howell is that old."

"Yeah, and I don't want to do anything with _him_, either." Kurt looked positively ill at the idea. "God – Finn, isn't this date about _us?"_

"Sorry, baby," he said, grinning. "I was just teasing. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." He reached for Kurt and pulled him into his arms. "Do you want to eat first, or play the CD?"

"Let's eat," Kurt said. "I'll set the table."

"I'll go upstairs to get cleaned up," Finn said, nodding, kissing him on the forehead. Even though they weren't going out, Finn knew Kurt took a lot of time with his appearance, and he wanted to make at least some effort. Rifling through his closet, he pulled out a clean t-shirt and a sweater he'd always thought was a little on the girly side, but that Kurt had seen and approved. He took a moment in the bathroom to wash his face and run a comb through his hair. _Five minutes, compared to Kurt's ninety… I wonder what I'm missing?_ He shook his head, looking into the mirror, perplexed, and finally shrugged. _I hope this is good enough._

Kurt had set out candles and place mats and everything by the time he returned, and was sitting there waiting with a smile on his face, eyes luminous in the candlelight. "Are you hungry?" he said.

Finn felt his heart skip a few beats – it seemed that Kurt would always have this effect on him - and he smiled back. "Yeah," he said softly. "Let's eat."

Kurt touched his sweater gently with one hand as he poured Finn a glass of water. "Nice," he said, nodding. "I haven't seen this on you before."

"I was saving it?" Finn suggested, and Kurt stifled a laugh. "Uh. Yeah, my mom got it for me, and it's just a little… too…"

"Gay," Kurt suggested, biting his lip. "You look… really gay. And gorgeous, but that goes without saying. Don't worry, I won't take any pictures. Your gay sweater can stay home with us and the mushroom dessert."

Finn put a startled hand on his sweater and smoothed the front. "Uh… Kurt," he said, "I _am_ gay."

Kurt got very still, his eyes wide and fixed on Finn. Finn peered back at him. "What is it?" he said.

"I don't think I've heard you say that before, like _that_," Kurt said, in a hushed tone. "It just – still kind of surprises me."

"Yeah, well, you're not the only one," Finn said, grinning. "Some days I wonder if I'm ever going to feel any different, knowing this about myself. I mean, I pretty much feel like the same guy I was in September, before I had any of those dreams. I'm not living up to many of the stereotypes, am I?"

Kurt's smile crept over his face. "If you don't count the stuff we're going behind closed doors, no." He reached across the table and took Finn's hand. "You're still a jock, and you're not particularly concerned about fashion, or musical theater, or domestic affairs."

"Oh, affairs, I can be down with those," Finn said affably, eliciting a kick from Kurt.

"Seriously," Kurt stressed. "You really _are_ just yourself, Finn. And…"

"And I love you," he said. "And Puck. Like, so much more than I ever thought I could love anybody, except maybe my mom."

He watched Kurt's eyes mist over. "I love you, too."

They ate the salmon and broccoli in a pleasant, near-silent miasma of stolen glances and soft smiles. After Kurt took the first bite of the mushroom custard tart and looked like he might have an orgasm right there at the table, Finn was convinced, and they devoured the last crumb together.

"This is almost better than the strawberry-rhubarb cheesecake," he said, his mouth full.

"Almost?" Kurt said. "I'm not sure I ever want to eat anything else again." He picked up the CD and his empty plate. "Come on. We can listen to this in the kitchen while we wash up."

Finn gathered the rest of the dishes and blew out the candles and brought them into the kitchen, setting them in the sink and running water over them. Kurt loaded the CD into the boom box on the counter shelf and pressed play.

"_Hi, guys."_

Finn shot Kurt a surprised glance at the sound of Puck's quiet voice emanating from the speakers. "Did he say he was going to -?"

"_This is for you two. Kurt, I hope your date is as fucking awesome as mine was. Love you, baby. Finn, it's time to man up and take your guy in your arms, now. Put down the sponge."_

Finn looked down at his hand, holding the purple sponge from the sink, and blinked. "What the -?"

Kurt put a hand to his mouth, and his eyes filled. "God," he muttered.

The sound of Puck's flawless guitar, picking out an instrumental rendition of "I Will Always Love You," streamed into the room. Finn looked nervously at Kurt, but he crossed to where he was standing and took his hand, bringing him to the center of the kitchen floor.

"May I have this dance?" he said, and Kurt nodded, apparently speechless, tears spilling down his pale cheeks. Finn put his hands carefully on Kurt's hips and waited until Kurt put his arms around Finn's neck before starting the sway-step, sway-step on which Puck had instructed him.

"This is all I know how to do," Finn warned him.

Kurt nodded again, closing his eyes. "This… is more than enough, Finn," he whispered.

The song shifted occasionally, the medley maintaining the same slow, comfortable tempo, letting Finn and Kurt's feet continue the rhythm they'd established. Finn recognized "Underneath It All" and "More Than Words." He thought some of the ones he didn't know were probably Neil Diamond, but he didn't care, and Kurt didn't seem to, either. He felt completely at home, completely safe, and completely in love, here, with Kurt.

"Someday I'm going to dance with you in front of everyone," Finn said. They were leaning against each other now, Kurt's head on Finn's heart. Finn's hands had made it to Kurt's ass, but Kurt wasn't complaining. "In front of everyone in Glee – in front of the whole school. I am. You just wait."

"I can," said Kurt, with a soft sigh. "I can wait. Just being here, with you, now – this is all I want."

He didn't step on Kurt's feet once.

When the music stopped, Finn figured it was over, but just before he was about to eject the CD, he heard Puck's soft voice again. "_I figured you guys could sit through this one more time. This way if I get run over by a bus, you can listen to this CD in another twenty years and say, 'Jeez, that asshole Puck, remember him?'"_

Kurt put his hand over his eyes and winced. "Finn…"

"I know, I know," he said, patting his back. "It's just Puck. Don't worry about it. He just gets like this; it doesn't mean anything."

"_So anyway… just for you guys. You'd better not play this for anybody else, even if I do get run over by a bus, or I'll come back and fucking haunt your ass."_

Finn grinned. "Sure you will," he murmured to the CD player. "I'll count on it."

Kurt glanced up at him, tucking his head under Finn's arm against his chest. "I can hear it."

"Hear what?"

His eyes smiled up at Finn. "How much you love him. Whenever you talk about him."

Finn felt his face heat up. _I'm going to have to watch myself,_ he thought nervously. _I'm way too obvious. _"Yeah," he said. "I really do. I wish…"

The thing he wished died in his throat as he heard the slow picking pattern give way to Puck's voice, singing a familiar tune:

_A hard knock, a cold clock, ticking off my time_

_A long look, no luck, couldn't seem to find_

_Or unwind into peace of mind, though I was trying_

_A quick glance, a big chance, my heart beat like a drum_

_I saw you and I knew chances just don't come_

_Round again, not like this, first a laugh and then the kiss_

_And I'm free in you_

_I got no worries on my mind, now I know what to do_

_That's to treat you right and love you kind_

_Thank you always on my mind_

_Love is just like breathing when it's true…_

Finn realized his throat was constricting, and for a moment, he felt so dizzy, he had to clutch at the kitchen counter to keep from falling forward. Then he felt Kurt's strong arm, holding him up, guiding him to sit in a chair, and he took a long deep breath.

"That – wasn't fair, man," he said, shakily. "Holy cow. I'm sorry, baby. This isn't supposed to be… I mean, I want to be here, with you. It's not about him."

"It is, though," Kurt said, seating himself on Finn's knee, which felt strange when _Kurt_ was the one comforting _him,_ but oh, well. "It's about all of us. That song, it was for both of us, then, and now. It's okay, really."

They listened to the rest of the song in silence, arms around each other, letting the sound of Puck's voice and his guitar carry them into a state of introspection.

"_Well, that's enough of that romantic bullshit. Time to open the paper bag, if you haven't already gotten curious and opened it early. Kurt, at least give it a try, and remember what I told you. Finn, you'll know why I picked this one."_

They heard him lean closer to the microphone, close enough that they could hear his low, sexy chuckle. _"You guys are the hottest, most fucking incredible thing that's ever happened to me. Thanks… for everything."_

Then there was a click, and the CD player spun to a stop. They both glanced at the dining room table where the canvas bag sat, with its small paper bag.

"Shall we?" Kurt said.

Finn unwrapped it, reached in, slid out the contents – and froze.

"Um," said Finn.

"No," said Kurt.

"Well, he did say dinner, dancing, and a movie."

"_No,"_ Kurt repeated, louder, holding up both hands like stop signs. "I am _not_ watching a _porno_ with you."

Finn tried not to laugh, knowing how Kurt would react to any kind of mirth at this point. "He said you should try it," he said. "Let's watch the first ten minutes. That way, at least we can say we… gave it a shot."

"Oh, ha, ha, very funny," Kurt grumbled, his face red to his ears. "Seriously. I have _no_ interest in this stuff."

"You don't even know what it's about." Finn turned over _Bareback Cowboy_ and examined the photos on the back cover of the DVD, then he glanced at Kurt curiously. "Puck said for you to remember what he said. What did he say?"

"_Nothing." _

Finn put up a hand to cover his mouth, hiding his smirk, because Kurt sounded _precisely_ like Puck did when he was… when he needed…

"Hmm," said Finn. "Okay. Forget it. You ready to go home, then?"

"I – what?" Kurt's eyebrows dropped into a disgruntled crouch. "We didn't – I mean, we haven't even –"

"Never mind," Finn said. "We don't have to. It's not a big deal, right? I had a great date, baby." He kissed Kurt on the cheek. "I'll get your coat, okay?"

"Finn," Kurt said, plaintively, "wait."

Finn paused, turning expectantly to Kurt, and waited. Kurt cleared his throat.

"I… I guess," he said, each word coming out with an effort, "I could… just watch the first ten minutes. That's all," he added. "Just to say we tried it. I don't want Noah to feel bad, after all."

"Sure," Finn nodded. "It's only fair."

They took the DVD to Finn's room and loaded it into the Xbox, closing the shades and propping themselves up with pillows on Finn's bed. "I feel like we should lock the door," said Kurt. "Nobody's even home, and the front door has a deadbolt, and I _still_ feel guilty for doing this."

"You've never seen a porn movie," said Finn, marveling. "Never?"

"I tried watching tiny bits on the Internet once," Kurt admitted. "But I couldn't sit through them. They were _awful._ I felt more scared about all the sex stuff _after_ I saw them than before."

"But you never felt scared with me, when we were trying out new stuff," Finn pointed out. "You were so great."

"I guess that was because I knew you needed me to lead," Kurt said. "You were nervous, and I wanted to help, so I didn't feel worried. I had to be the one to be… in charge." Kurt realized what he'd said, and he turned red again. Finn laughed.

"You and Puck," Finn said. "On Monday, when you had such a bad day… he took care of you, like that. He was in charge. How was that?"

Kurt was silent for a minute, and Finn waited, placing one hand on his leg. Kurt shifted under his touch. "It was hot," Kurt said at last, almost in a whisper.

"But Sunday, _you_ were. When you put him to bed with warm milk." Kurt nodded. "That was okay? You didn't mind, you know, the switch?"

"No," Kurt said. "I – it was what he needed."

"And on Monday, he gave you what you needed." Finn had felt… _proud_, to see Puck do that for Kurt. His boys, taking care of each other. He smiled, cuddling Kurt closer. "It _was_ really hot, baby."

"It didn't bother you?" Kurt turned his head into Finn's sweater. "Seeing someone else in charge of me?"

"No – well, no, because it was _Puck._ I don't know if I could – like, if anybody _else_ wanted to do that…" He considered it. "I don't know how I'd feel."

"Maybe a little possessive?" Kurt suggested, patting his arm.

"Maybe," Finn agreed. He pointed at the TV, where the main screen of the DVD was waiting. "So… there's a code among straight guys. When you watch porn together, you can look, but you can't touch. Other guys, that is. It's okay to touch yourself."

"Oh," said Kurt. He regarded the TV intently. "Is that our rule, too?"

"I don't think I could follow that rule if I tried, around you," Finn said, sliding his hand down Kurt's thigh, and watching him respond, his hips coming up off the bed of their own volition. "You're… far too tempting."

He felt Kurt heart speeding up, where he lay against Finn's chest, and his hand crept down to Finn's stomach, playing with his belt. "So… maybe our rule could be, we can _only_ touch… each other?"

"Oh," Finn said, a slow grin spreading over his face. "That sounds like an _awesome_ rule." He pressed play on the remote and switched off the overhead light. "Remind me to ask you when I need a new drinking game. I bet you'd come up with great ones."

They watched the vista of the American west appear on the screen, complete with cows and guys in Stetsons on horses. "And you probably shouldn't expect much of a plot," added Finn, gesturing at the screen. "This won't be _Brokeback Mountain._ You'll be lucky if they get through five lines of dialogue before they've got their pants off."

"Okay," Kurt said nervously, blinking. Finn felt him tense. "I'm ready."

Finn laughed. "It's not a geometry test, baby. Just relax. And, you know, don't feel bad about enjoying it."

He found himself barely watching the screen at all, because his attention was all on Kurt, having this experience for the first time. It was compelling – far more compelling than the fake cowboys in the movie - to observe Kurt's lips part as his breathing deepened, watch his eyes darken with heat, hear his little noises of desire.

"Uh, Finn," said Kurt, his voice tight and focused. "I think I know why Noah chose this one."

"Yeah?" said Finn, turning his attention to the screen – and felt his ability to speak drop away as he noticed what was happening on the video. He'd been right to predict they'd have their pants off quickly, though they were both still wearing their Stetsons. The guy on all fours was long and gangly, his jeans around his knees. The _other_ guy, the one kneeling behind him with his cock buried deep in his ass, was young and slender, with pale skin. He stroked the taller man's back with his strong, slim hands, saying things that were making Kurt squeak.

"Ah," said Finn, hearing his voice come out rather higher than it had a moment ago. "Okay. Yeah. I… I see what you mean."

Kurt's hand edged lower and tucked under Finn's belt, and he stifled an urge to _pick up_ Kurt's hand and _place it_ exactly where he wanted it. "Noah said… you liked that. Fingers, and… and tongues, anyway."

The improbably plural word _tongues_ made Finn writhe for a moment, and he gasped out, "Yeah… yeah, I like that."

Kurt gazed at the screen, reaching down with his left hand, unzipping Finn's fly, while his right hand sought and found what it was looking for in Finn's jeans, and Finn sighed in relief, thrusting into Kurt's familiar grip. Kurt leaned in, raising himself up to whisper in Finn's ear. "Do you want… me? Doing that with you?"

"Yes," he groaned, before he could even think about it. "God, baby, _yes,_ I want that."

Kurt echoed his groan, rubbing himself against Finn's leg in a distinctly goal-oriented way. "Okay," he said, "okay – then why aren't we doing that, _right now?"_

Finn waited for Kurt to move aside before he kicked off his jeans, and quickly slipped off his sweater while Kurt carefully took off the gorgeous, overpriced blazer and lay it on the chair at Finn's desk. Seeing Kurt in the tight black t-shirt underneath made Finn's breath catch in unexpected ways. "You should wear _that_ on your date with Puck," he said. "Just _that._"

Kurt glanced down, startled. "Really?" He ran his hands over his arms self-consciously, and tossed his hair back. "I always thought I was too skinny to look good in t-shirts."

"If you were before," said Finn, popping the button on Kurt's pants and easing down the zipper, "you're not now. You look fantastic."

Kurt's eyes were drawn back to the television as Finn shimmied Kurt's pants off and made an effort to drape them carefully along the foot of Finn's tiny bed. Kurt laughed, nervously. "I wonder if that's really how we'd look."

"I don't know," Finn said. He stretched out on his back, watching Kurt as he knelt on the foot of the bed. "I kind of thought I'd like this position better, though. I want to be able to see you."

Kurt's eyes shone with pleasure and desire, and he climbed onto the bed, right on top of Finn. The touch of his knee against Finn's inner thigh did more to turn Finn on than anything else – though the view of the strangely familiar cowboys doing awesome things to each other on the screen was certainly a plus. Kurt turned his head to watch for just a moment, and Finn caught his breath at Kurt's profile, silhouetted in the light of the television, his lips trembling, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, and Kurt looked down at him in surprise.

"I'm so glad you think so," Kurt said, in his sweet voice. _It was just right for him,_ Finn thought, putting two fingers on his throat and tracing the shape of his collarbone. _Not like a girl's at all, really. Just – like Kurt. Like no one else._

"I've never met anybody like you," Finn said. "That guy on the video, he doesn't even come close. You're so much your own person, you know?"

"No, Finn," he said, laughing brokenly, shaking his head. "No, I'm not. I'm _yours._ Remember?"

Finn reached for him and pulled him down onto his bare chest, the feeling of their skin together still one of the best things in the world. "You're mine," he agreed. "My home. My baby."

"Yes, sir," he heard in his ear, full of certainty, of love and willing surrender, so different from the desperate, passionate submission of Puck – it was no more or less powerful, nor more or less compelling. Just different; just wholly _Kurt._

Kurt relaxed against Finn's body, but his hands were moving, reaching for the bottle of lube Finn kept in the top drawer of his desk now, within reach of the bed. Finn took his hand and stopped him.

"I – I like it without it, better," he said, haltingly. Kurt gave him a wide-eyed, concerned look.

"Really?"

"Just you," Finn insisted. "That's what I want."

"I'm going to _hurt_ you," Kurt said, looking torn.

"No, baby," he said, and captured both of Kurt's wrists, looking so small in Finn's big hands. "I'm telling you, this is what I like. I'll let you know if it hurts."

"Promise?" Kurt asked, and Finn nodded again, guiding Kurt's hands down as he opened his legs wide.

"Please," he said, and Kurt sucked in a shocked breath at the word. "Please, I want it. Just like this."

Finn had a moment of deja-vu as Kurt knelt between his legs, remembering times on the green couch when Kurt had tried this with him, and he'd stopped him, not trusting the feelings he was having, not ready to face them. Weeks later, Puck had put his tongue inside him, followed by his fingers, after sneaking into Finn's room, right here on his very own bed. They'd done it without lube, and it had been a little rough and sloppy, but sincere, and so _fucking_ hot. "Please," he said again, and cried out as he felt Kurt's tongue pressing into him. "Oh – _god,_ Kurt, _yes."_

The television provided only faint echoes to their own lovemaking, because honestly, _nothing_ was as hot as Kurt, and what they were doing now was way more interesting than anything those cowboys could have thought of. He felt himself opening, one little bit at a time, to the wet, hot pressure of Kurt's tongue, felt the slickness inside, the anticipation of what he knew was coming. "I'm ready," Finn said, his gut tightening. "I want it – please, _now."_

Kurt didn't make him beg any more than that. He rose up between Finn's legs, still looking worried, but he didn't ask again if Finn was sure. He trusted Finn – and somehow that was more erotic and powerful than anything else they'd done that night. _He trusts me._ "Inside me," he insisted. "_Now."_

Kurt bit his lip as he used his hand to guide himself to the right place, and pressed – _pressed into him,_ the not-quite-wet skin tugging in just-right ways, making him gasp and buck his hips into Kurt, wanting to feel it again. It was better than a tongue, because he could see Kurt's face as his cock slid into his ass, and it was better than fingers, because he could tell it was making Kurt crazy, too.

"Oh," Kurt said, in shock. "Oh, my god."

He just knelt there, looking down at Finn, with wonder and love in his eyes, and that was enough – for about five seconds. "Kurt," Finn said, with an edge in his voice, that edge that meant _If you don't, then..._ It did something to Kurt, and he snapped into action, his hips lifting up and stroking into Finn, making them both cry out.

"I'm not hurting you?" he gasped, pressing deeper into Finn as he leaned over him, and Finn felt the friction against that spot inside.

"No," Finn said, gasping, "do it again, just like that."

Kurt watched his face, the smile beginning, as Finn's eyes rolled back into his head and he let out a low, urgent groan. "Again," he said. This time Kurt pulled back further, and when he slammed into him, Finn saw stars. "Yes – like that, baby, _please."_

"Finn," Kurt said, still smiling as he leaned over, gripping Finn's shoulders, and he began a slow rhythm, unerringly drawn to that spot with each thrust. "I can feel – I can _feel _you…"

Finn knew just what he meant, knew the amazement he'd experienced the first time with Puck, and every time since, and he could only say, with sincerity, "Yes… yes…"

It didn't stop, the feelings of rightness, the perfection of _Kurt,_ inside _Finn_, and it just spiraled up and out of control and _god,_ he was going to come, _right now._ "Touch me," he begged, thrusting up in desperate need, and Kurt took him in his sure hand.

"You're incredible," Kurt breathed, and Finn _felt_ that, felt the love and admiration falling down on him like a meteor shower. He wasn't at all sure he deserved it, but he let it cover him just as he lost all control, shouting Kurt's name as he came.

The best part, the part he didn't expect, was that Kurt wasn't done, was still pumping into him in that patient, loving rhythm, and each time he could feel Kurt stroking into him, could feel himself still responding, even after his cock had stopped pulsing. It was almost more than he could bear.

"I can't…" he said, but Kurt wasn't stopping, and he didn't _want_ him to, just even though there was no way he would… that he could…

"It's okay," Kurt said, soothing, his voice gentle, helping Finn put down his fears. "You don't have to do anything. Just let me take care of you."

Finn wasn't sure what to do with that, but he felt calmer, knowing Kurt didn't expect anything of him. He breathed into the rhythm, let himself just _feel,_ not having to be anything other than who he was, right then, with Kurt. And he could feel it, then, could feel every little bit of pressure and sensation of Kurt's cock: the shape of it, the way it fit inside this part of his body that he could have _sworn_ wasn't meant for any kind of _anything_ other than what he'd always used it for, but now… now he wasn't sure at all. _Maybe he _was_ made for this,_ he thought. _Nothing that feels this good could be any other way, right?_

Somehow, in the breathing, he found himself relaxing more deeply, and the sensation grew, grew impossibly large, to encompass his whole body. He felt each thrust all the way up his spine – and he recognized the feeling. It was the same as the energy he could sense when he disciplined Puck, or Kurt. He could feel it climbing up, making the journey through the top of his head. He leaned into it.

"That's it," said Kurt, with satisfaction, as he sped up his thrusts, and Finn heard his own harsh breathing, heard his own moans as though from far away, and with an unbelievable wrenching, twisting leap, he accelerated into another orgasm, this one completely hands-free, as Kurt cried out, "Finn - oh, Finn," and came inside him.

"Oh my god," Finn said, hyperventilating, over and over. "Oh, my god."

He came down as if from a great height, slowly, floating on the endorphin rush, and lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling of his room. The DVD had ended, and the blue screen of the TV shone on them, on the bed. And then Kurt was somehow lying next to him, watching him, stroking his chest. For a long time, they just lay like that, until finally Finn realized Kurt was speaking to him. He had to ask him to repeat what he'd said.

"Thank you," Kurt said again, and Finn was so bewildered by this that he didn't say anything for a moment.

Finally he had to ask. "For what?"

Kurt's hand moved down to touch the skin along his side, over his hip. "For letting yourself trust me, enough to do that with me."

Now he was even more confused. "Of course I trust you, baby," he said, reaching up to cup Kurt's cheek. Kurt put his hand over Finn's.

"But this is about you," Kurt insisted. "Trusting _yourself,_ to let go, to be open to the moment. It's what you taught me, you and Noah. Letting go of old stories, not letting them sway you from what's _true, _what's _real."_

Finn shook his head. "You see so much more than I do," he said, marveling. "I wouldn't know how to describe that. I just _do_ it. You've got the words for it."

"And you have the intuition," Kurt said. "You're the heart of all of us."

"Mmmm." Finn thought. "You're the brains, then. And Puck?"

Kurt laughed. "He's the cock, of course."

"Of course," Finn said, grinning. He brushed Kurt's bangs out of his eyes. "Did you – enjoy that? A first time for you, too."

"God," said Kurt, startled. "_Yes." _He pressed his lips together, eyes dancing. "I don't think I need to ask if you did, or not."

"Uh… right." Finn's head was still reeling; he wasn't sure if he could sit up yet, or if the muscles of his stomach would support his weight. "Yeah. It was… pretty amazing."

"And it really didn't hurt you?" Kurt was perplexed. Finn made an experimental squeeze with his ass, and he winced. Kurt's expression moved into regret. "Yeah. I was afraid of that."

"You have no idea, though," he said. "It was so worth it."

Kurt sighed and lay his head down on Finn's chest, closing his eyes. "I'm glad to hear you say it. I'll never forget it, no matter how many times we do it again."

"I think we owe Puck for this date," agreed Finn. "Big time."


	16. Chapter 16

_(Author's note: I had at least one request for the recipe for the mushroom tarts, so: http:/ www. mycopia. com  
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_Also, you all just love Kurt on top! Who knew? _

_A note about Glee: if you haven't noticed by now, I've made it a class, in their last hour of the day, rather than a club, in order to justify them getting together every day for rehearsal._

_Puck's song lyrics are written courtesy songirl77, who is a far better poet than she gives herself credit for. Thanks, baby.  
><em>

_Here's some more calm before the storm. Enjoy while you can. –amy)_

* * *

><p>Puck moved to the center of the green couch when his homework was done, and Ms. Riordan – no, <em>Lady Tess<em>; she was never going to be anything less than that, to him - had gone home. He almost never sat on the couch anymore; he was much more comfortable sitting on the floor. He wasn't sure what that said about him, but most of the time he didn't care.

But today, for this task, he needed a little room for his guitar to move. It was going to have to be now, before Kurt and Finn came home. He smiled faintly as he considered the contents of the canvas sack, and imagined they were enjoying their dance right about now.

Or maybe they'd moved right on to the porno. When he'd seen it the first time, maybe a year ago, it hadn't occurred to him that the young guy looked anything like Kurt – he was too fixated on the tall, lanky guy, probably – but when he'd gone back and perused his admittedly _varied_ collection of DVDs, this one had jumped out at him for more than one reason. A little thrill moved through him at the thought of Kurt and Finn recreating the movie. He just hoped it was good for both of them.

He strummed a few chord changes before he played through Kurt's melody from start to finish. Then he took his pencil and wrote, erased, wrote, swore, and erased some more. It seemed to take far longer than he'd anticipated to put down on paper the thoughts he'd been having for the last week about Kurt, but finally he had something with which he was happy.

The other part… that was going to be harder. Puck stuck the pencil in his mouth and chewed on it while he let his mind drift and his hands strum, thinking of the years of knowing Finn. They'd met in elementary school – was it second or third grade? – when they'd shared a locker, _Hudson_ improbably next to _Puckerman_ in the alphabetical list of kids that year, and had quickly become friends. They'd bonded over a mutual love of dinosaurs and baseball and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Finn had been the one he'd gone to when his dad got abusive, not to talk, but just to feel safe, to be his haven of normalcy when everything else was confusing and scary. Puck had been the one to show Finn how to tune in Skinemax on the cable box, which had brought up more questions than it had answered about how boys and girls were supposed to be together. There was their brief love affair with skateboarding in sixth grade, which had ended with Finn's broken wrist – it still bothered him, sometimes, when the weather changed. And, every year, Puck had never failed to distract Finn with action movies and junk food on Father's Day, when Finn would be morose for about four hours, thinking of the dad he'd never known.

And now, there was the Finn of his current universe, and the way he made Puck feel things on a daily basis that he _never_ thought he would be able to have with _anyone,_ much less with Finn Hudson, the guy of his literal fucking dreams. Things with Finn were both more complicated and more simple than he had yet been able to describe, and he craved him more than he could possibly have imagined. It was time for the language of music to take over.

Finn's song poured out of his fingers, then, as though it had already been written and he was simply playing it. Puck could hear the way it would fit together with Kurt's melody. He had to stop several times to wipe his eyes as he made notations on the staff paper. _This is for Finn,_ he thought to himself sternly. _For Finn, and Kurt. I have to get through this. _

The words came more slowly, but they flowed no less surely than the melody, and there was less swearing. What he felt for Kurt was intense, and meaningful, and absolutely hot; but what he felt for Finn was borne out of years of moments together. Everything he understood about Finn, he could sense in his gut, and his cock, and all the parts of himself – he just _knew_. He knew him by heart.

The lyrics were pretty lame, he could tell. But they were good enough to convey what he wanted to say. The music carried the meaning enough that the words were just boats on the river of his melody - Kurt's melody, interwoven with the chords and verses of the song for Finn.

The problem was, there was no way he could perform it by himself. He could play _one_ part, but not _all_ the parts. He was going to have to involve someone else – someone who could play an instrument… and who knew the three of them were together. That pretty much left him with one option.

Two minutes on the Internet provided him with the phone number he needed, and he punched it into his cell phone without hesitation.

"Hello?" said Brad.

"Hey," said Puck, doodling an eyeball on the corner of his paper. "It's Puck, from Glee."

"Oh – hi." Brad sounded surprised, but not upset. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just… I needed help with this song I was writing. It's, uh, kind of personal, and I don't think I could ask anyone else for help." He set his guitar in the case and gently snapped the latches. "Do you think you'd have any time tomorrow to give me a hand?"

"Sure," said Brad. "I could come in early, if you want to meet before school, or stick around after Glee for a little while."

"After would be perfect," Puck said. "I really appreciate it, man."

"It's no problem. Hey, did your brother ever pass word back to Lady Gaga about coming to visit? I can't believe she's serious about that."

"I don't know." Puck hadn't spoken to Timothy in days, not since he'd come for dinner last weekend. He wondered, guiltily, how things were going at his Ma's house. _I should go over and see for myself,_ he thought. "I can find out, though."

"All right. See you tomorrow, then."

The earlier conversation with Lady Tess had left him feeling relaxed and calm. He wondered if Burt would notice. He climbed the stairs to the first floor to find Burt at the dining room table, surrounded by piles of papers and a calculator. "You done with your homework?" Burt asked, looking up from his checkbook.

"Yeah," Puck said. He glanced around the empty dining room. "Everybody go home?"

"Carole had an early meeting, and John and Tess headed back to their hotel. I guess they're taking off tomorrow afternoon." Burt stretched his arms over his head and cracked his neck. "They're good folks. I can tell where those Winchester boys get their stubbornness." He eyed Puck. "You get a chance to talk to Kurt?"

"He wasn't mad, not exactly," said Puck, grabbing a chair and flipping it around, then seating himself in it backwards, leaning on the back. "He's not ashamed of me. He hates hiding as much as I do. He… he wants a chance to go out, the two of us, and be… out. But where he doesn't have to worry about the other high school kids gawking at us."

"Hmm." Burt thought. "Not in Lima, then."

"No, not in Lima. Uh – I was thinking maybe Dayton. It's about an hour and a half away. We could go down for dinner, on Saturday?" He waited to ask the rest until he saw how Burt reacted to this question.

"Well…" Burt's eyebrows reflected the way he was wrestling with this inside. "Kurt's never _been_ out on a date before, Puck."

"I know," he agreed. "I want him to have fun, and not to worry. He… he wasn't ready with Finn, tonight, and they stayed in. That was fine. But he _said_ he wanted to go out, with me." He twisted his hands together in his lap. "I want him to see that it doesn't have to be a big deal, you know? That somewhere, out in the world, _he_ doesn't have to feel like the weird kid. That guys like us, we could go out, and just… be ourselves, and nobody would think twice about it."

"You think you're going to find that in Dayton?" Burt sounded amused. "I don't know if that's all that realistic, Puck. In the grand scheme of things, Dayton's still pretty much a small city."

"Bigger than Lima, by a long shot," Puck shrugged. "They have a dance club down there, for gay kids. Saturdays, it's open to sixteen and up. I bet he'd like to dance."

Burt's eyebrows were up on his forehead now. "I bet he would."

"Kurt needs something just for him," Puck said, and he knew he was pleading now, but he didn't feel weird about it, because this was _Burt. _"He's been so good to me, and Finn. I want him to have this."

"He's still just a kid," Burt said, half to himself, but even he didn't look convinced.

"Dude… he's not much of a kid anymore. And Dayton… I know it's not New York or San fu- um, San Francisco, but… it's a start. You know?"

There was a silence. Finally, he nodded slowly. "I know." He sighed. "You'd have him home by one am?"

"Two?" Puck countered. "So we can stay and dance till midnight?"

"Two." Burt looked like he was tasting something bitter. "And Kurt drives the Navigator. You're not taking that truck of yours, not with no airbag. And _not one drop_ of alcohol passes either of your lips, or so help me God, I'll ground you for a month. _Both_ of you."

Puck was around the table and hugging Burt before he thought about it, and then Burt was hugging him back before he could pull away. "Thank you," he whispered. "I'll take care of him."

"I believe you," came Burt's quiet reply, and his hand tightened on Puck's neck just for a moment before he let him go. "Go on downstairs; it's after ten and you've got school tomorrow. I'll let Kurt know when he gets back."

* * *

><p>Puck was almost asleep in Kurt's guest bed when he felt a gentle touch on his chest. "Sweetheart?"<p>

"Baby…" he murmured, stretching, and smiled up at Kurt. "How was your date?"

"Magical," Kurt said, smiling back. "That video… you're a sneaky little boy. I'm not sure if I should punish you or reward you for that one."

Puck felt a thrill that went to his toes. "Both?" he suggested, and Kurt laughed softly. "So it went… well?"

"Let's say that Finn was practically comatose when I left," Kurt said, sitting on the edge of the bed. He was still wearing that amazing blazer. Puck stroked his fingers over the fine fabric. "The food was fantastic, and the CD… I don't know how you got Finn to dance with me, Noah, but it was… well, touching doesn't begin to cover it."

He ran a thumb under Kurt's eye, cupping his cheek. "Made you cry, didn't I?" he said with satisfaction.

"Several times," Kurt agreed. "And Finn."

Puck chuckled, yawning. "Did your dad tell you about the weekend?"

Kurt shook his head in amazement. "Yes – and how, pray tell, did you manage that?"

"Oh, hey." Puck shrugged, crossing his fingers. "Me and Burt, we're like _this."_

Kurt dissolved into a fit of giggles. "Unbelievable. So we're really going out for dinner, in Dayton?"

"And dancing," Puck nodded, as Kurt gasped, both hands to his mouth. "That club, you know?"

"Masque," Kurt squeaked. "How – for real?"

"We have to leave around midnight to come back here, or your dad's going to skin me alive," Puck warned. "And I promised no drinking. We'll have to get high on something else."

"You know I don't do any of that stuff," Kurt said, running a hand over Puck's chest. "I don't need it, anyway. Just you."

"Don't worry, baby," Puck said with confidence. "We're going to have the most fucking amazing date of our lives. You just wait."

"And tomorrow, after school." He tapped Puck's sternum. "Be prepared. We're going shopping, you and me. I'm going to dress you up for this date."

"O-okay," Puck said, with a nearly terrifying rush of excitement at the notion. "I still get to be a badass, right? I mean, you're not going to put me in fishnets and heels or anything?"

Kurt smothered a derisive laugh. "That would _not _be your best look, sweetheart, I can guarantee it. Can you live with preppy casual?"

"Maybe." Puck felt the tension in his belly gather and coalesce –_ fuck, I guess once in the shower wasn't enough for me. Not with the possibility of getting dressed up by Kurt looming on the horizon._ "Nobody from Lima's going to see me, right?"

"Somehow I doubt it," Kurt said, running his hand down Puck's chest to his stomach. When it reached his swelling cock, he gave Puck a slow smile that made him arch into Kurt's hand and groan. "I guess you like that idea, hmmm?"

"Yes," he said, emphatically. "You can fucking bet on it."

Kurt glanced at the half-open door, then back down at Puck, slipping his hand under the covers to touch him. "I love having you here in my house," he whispered, leaning in for a kiss as he wrapped his hand around the base of his cock and squeezed. "It's the most wonderful feeling."

_Finn said the same thing,_ Puck thought, closing his eyes and giving himself in to Kurt's ministrations. _It's not home, but it'll do for now. _

* * *

><p>"We should go downstairs," Finn said, without moving a muscle. Puck let out one amused snort, his head on Finn's stomach.<p>

"It's weird being in Glee without Mr. Schue," Kurt said, stretching out luxuriantly on the mattress. The attic room was narrow enough at the end that the mattress barely fit between the wall under the eaves and the bookshelves. Finn and Puck had wrestled it upstairs from the choir room once it became clear that Mr. Schue would not be allowed to return it. "I kind of want to skip."

"Dude… what did you do with _my_ boyfriend?" Puck drawled. "Not that I'm objecting."

"I guess you're just a bad influence on me, Noah," Kurt said, running a hand over Puck's head, delighting in the feel of smooth skin on his palm.

"I don't want Mr. Schue to come back and have to ask us what the heck we were doing when we should have been at Glee," Finn said uneasily. "No matter what's true about Mr. Schue, I _really_ don't want to have to tell him the truth about that."

"I got it, man," Puck said, heaving himself to his feet. "But we are going to definitely have to find some way to thank Mr. Schue for this addition to the attic. A mattress is _exactly_ what we needed."

Finn laughed, helping Kurt up. "Dude. If you wanted to tell Mr. Schue about us, that's a perfect in. 'Hey, my boyfriends and I were giving each other head in the attic one day, and we said to ourselves, guess what our secret hideout really needs? _A bed.'"_ He ducked away, grinning, as Kurt swatted his shoulder.

The substitute in Glee had a video cued up and ready to go, which was actually kind of disappointing. "Can't we just rehearse?" Kurt said, but was booed down by most of the class.

"Mr. Schuester left clear instructions for Rachel to run through… uh, Proud Mary? and Don't Stop Believing?" the substitute said, reading the sub plans, "and then you're supposed to watch half an hour of this movie. You'll watch another half hour each day through Wednesday next week. It's all about music, apparently."

"_Apparently?"_ Rachel said with disbelief, standing to face the class. "You're telling me you've never watched _Mr. Holland's Opus?_ And under which rock were you born?"

"Don't ask me," the substitute shrugged. "I'm a math teacher."

They sounded reasonably good and spent most of the time tightening up their choreography under Rachel's discerning eye. _She's obnoxious as all get out,_ he thought begrudgingly as she stopped them a third time to point out places they could improve, _but boy, she knows what she's doing on the stage. If she doesn't make it as a singer, she could totally direct._

Kurt had seen _Mr. Holland's Opus_ before, but it was actually something of a pleasant opportunity to hang out with this… _family_ of choice and do something as ordinary as watch a movie. He wasn't the only one who thought so, either. "Maybe we should get together more often," Mercedes whispered, snuggling with him. "All of us."

"Maybe," he whispered back. It wasn't an unpleasant thought. He wondered, if he planned something at his house, and invited everyone in Glee… would they actually show up? Without spray paint and toilet paper, that is? Or maybe Finn – if he did it, maybe then they would come. And then he wondered exactly when he started to want to _voluntarily _hang out with people like Rachel and Quinn. "Maybe," he said again.

After class, most everyone took off right away, seeing as how it was a Friday. Kurt watched Quinn hug Finn and kiss his cheek, and she actually smiled at Kurt before heading out. _Maybe, _he thought.

"Have fun shopping," Finn said quietly to Kurt, with a grin. "I've gotta say, I'm glad it's not me."

"You won't say that after you see what I pick for Noah," he replied under his breath. "See you at home."

Mercedes was looking around in puzzlement. "Where'd Puck go? I had a question for him."

"He's talking to Brad," Kurt said, moving toward the choir office. "They were talking music – I don't know what exactly." When he peeked through the door, Puck was sitting on the edge of the desk, strumming a familiar melody and leaning with Brad over some scribbled notes. Kurt couldn't place it, but when Puck saw him and Mercedes, he stopped playing immediately.

"Hey," he said. "Uh – can we have a little bit?"

"I just wanted to suggest something for this weekend," said Mercedes, "but I'll call you later, okay?"

"Cool," Puck nodded. "Does it involve the Xbox and several hours of brain-numbing button-pushing?"

"Not this time," she grinned, and waved.

Brad raised an eyebrow at her departing form. "So – she knows about you guys, apparently?"

Kurt ticked off everyone on his fingers. "You, Mercedes, Quinn, Santana. Tina guessed about me and Noah. And our families know. It's kind of a lot when you think of it that way." He grimaced. "Oh, and Karofsky, apparently."

"Fuck 'em," Puck said dismissively. "Kurt, we're going to be a little while here; can I meet you at your place?"

"Okay," Kurt nodded, looking with curiosity at the papers in Puck's hand, but he didn't press further.

"We're on again for a piano lesson this Saturday?" Brad confirmed with Kurt, and he nodded again. "Great. You might want to wear sturdier clothes this time; Duncan's been waiting to eat his dinosaur playmate again."

"I'll come prepared, with condiments," Kurt nodded, smiling. "We're not quite done with your book."

"No hurry at all," Brad said. "You guys take your time. Just let us know if you have any questions."

"Thanks, man," Puck said. "I might have a couple, too." He reached out for Kurt's hand and squeezed it before turning back to his private conversation with Brad.

_Better swing by the ATM and check my balance,_ Kurt thought, as he walked out to the Navigator waiting in the parking lot. _It wouldn't do to go over budget, as tempting as it might be. _Shopping at the mall wasn't going to yield the best results – estate sales and eBay made up most of his eclectic, fashion-inspired wardrobe - but it was better than nothing at this late hour. He just hoped he could find something that both he and Noah could agree on.

* * *

><p>Puck flipped back to the first page of music. "So that's what I've got so far."<p>

Brad nodded. "There's a lot of good stuff here, Puck." He pointed at one unusual chord change. "This isn't elementary theory. How did you come up with this progression?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "I just play a lot of guitar. It made sense, you know?"

"I do know. You've got good instincts, just like Kurt does." He smiled. "You wrote the lyrics, too?"

"Yeah, I know," Puck said, rolling his eyes and blushing. "That's the most embarrassing part. I thought about just leaving it an instrumental, but…" He shrugged again. "I guess I figured these guys deserved me putting myself out there. You ever write a love song for your wives?"

"Once or twice," Brad said, with a wry grin. "When you're inspired, sometimes you can't help yourself. Okay, so, you go ahead and sing through the verses, and – this is where the descant is supposed to start, right? I'll sing it once alone, between the first and second verses, and then I'll come in there."

After one more glance at the door to make sure nobody else was listening, Puck sang the first verse by himself, then listened as Brad sang the next part. It was the weirdest feeling, to hear someone _else_ singing the song he'd written, the words he'd thought up for Finn, the melody of Kurt. It made him feel exposed, stripped down to his essence – which was not an experience he was accustomed to having around someone like Brad. His face burned through the second verse, and then he cued Brad with a nod, and they put the parts together for the third and fourth verses.

"Wow," he said in a hoarse voice when they were done, leaning against Mr. Schue's desk. "That was actually okay."

"More than okay," Brad encouraged. "It's coming together really well. I have some suggestions, if you want to hear them, for places where you could tighten it up. So where's your part?"

Puck knitted his brow, resorting the music. "My part?"

"Last I checked, there were _three_ people in your relationship," Brad said, smiling. "Why haven't you written a part for you, too?"

Puck stroked the neck of his Taylor. "I don't know. I kind of figured my part was to play the song."

"Well, maybe. I just wouldn't want you to discount your role in this triad. They need you, too, you know."

"I guess," he said. "I mean, yeah… I know." _Sometimes I do._

The song was running through his head, and he found himself singing his sappy lyrics under his breath as he climbed into his truck:

_Cool on the outside yet trembling inside  
>Wanting to run but there's nowhere to hide….<em>

_It got a little easier to sing every time,_ he thought, starting the ignition. Singing it with someone else had made it more real, somehow. The music had set up its place in his heart, kind of near where his imaginary daughter lived, and gave him something to hold onto. _Not Top Forty, but it's good enough for Kurt and Finn. And me._

Kurt was waiting impatiently in the front seat of the Navigator when he pulled into his driveway. Puck parked his truck and hurried around to climb into the passenger seat. "I'm driving," Kurt said, slamming the door and giving Puck a quick kiss.

"Yes, sir," Puck said, amused. Kurt gave him a startled look, but didn't comment.

"We'll start at Macy's," he said as he put on his seat belt. "If we're going to find any reasonably attractive knockoffs, they'll be there." His hand stole across between the two front seats and captured Puck's, looking nervous and excited. "You… you're really going to let me do this?"

"Hell, yes," Puck said. "I trust you. It's more than that, though. I don't care about the clothes. It's… you, picking them out." He swallowed. "Making me wear them."

"God," Kurt said in a strangled voice, and Puck watched him take an erratic series of breaths. He wiped his hands on his stylish pants. "I have no idea why that is so… _hot."_

"I've got no clue, either," Puck said. "But I'm in."

Walking into the mall with another person had never felt so revealing. Puck glared at everybody who made eye contact with him, daring them to say something about him being there with Kurt, and they all looked away in a hurry. Puck found himself walking a few steps behind Kurt, almost instinctively, watching out for danger.

Kurt glanced behind him. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to be subtle," he muttered.

"Hmmm," Kurt said, turning back around. "And here I thought maybe you were being subservient."

"Maybe I'm just staring at your ass," he shot back, stung. Because actually, now that he thought about it, that's _exactly_ what he had been doing – walking behind him, like Kurt was taking the lead, like he was on a fucking _leash_ or something. He thought of the image of himself in the collar, and he shivered, then took a few quick steps so he was walking beside Kurt as they entered Macy's.

The salespeople looked just a little too familiar for Puck's comfort, and when he noticed Mrs. Silverman from synagogue, helping at the check-out counter, he nearly turned around and walked out. _So much for being fucking courageous,_ he thought, sighing in frustration. Kurt was in his element, pointing out sweaters, and he tried to pay attention.

Then he paused in front of a display. "Dude," he said, grinning. "Look at this. It could be us." He indicated the grey and blue shirts, sleeves carefully positioned to be tucked into the pants pockets of the headless mannequins. "Don't you have a blue shirt like that?"

"Well." Kurt considered the shirt with obvious condescension. "Mine's an _actual_ Marc Jacobs. But this one's pretty nice." He fingered the contrasting cuffs with grudging admiration. "You like it?"

"I like the grey one," he said.

Kurt took one off the rack and held it up to him with an appraising eye, checking the length of the sleeves and the drape against his back. He stood very still, letting Kurt look and touch and position him where he needed him to be. It was dramatically, strikingly similar to the way Dr. Howell had touched him, in that office room, but this time, it was _Kurt,_ and he felt nothing but calm and quiet inside.

"What are you, a sixteen, sixteen-and-a-half collar?" Kurt met Puck's eyes - and caught his breath.

"What?" Puck said.

"You – the look on your face." Kurt gazed at him, his pupils becoming dilated, face flushed and radiant, and Puck had to take a step back before he lost it and kissed him right in the middle of the department store. Kurt reached out and touched the front of Puck's shirt. "You look a little overwhelmed, sweetheart. Are you okay?"

He nodded, fixing on Kurt's words, letting them carry him through the store, giving him something to follow as they walked between the racks of clothes. Kurt carried two different sizes of the grey shirt and another pinstriped shirt he found on a nearby rack, then brought Puck over to a display of some pants made of much softer material than he'd ever worn before. Kurt didn't even bother to ask; he just turned Puck around and folded down the back of his jeans to check the size. "Thought so," he said to himself, and quickly found the right size on the shelf. "Ready to try these on?"

If the guy helping at the counter thought it was strange that Kurt was helping Puck try on clothes, he didn't let on. "Let me know if I can get you anything in a different size," he offered.

"Thanks," said Kurt, smiling, and the guy left them alone in the fitting room. Kurt backed Puck into a curtained cubicle and began undressing him with efficient movements; Puck found it easy to just stand there and let him do it.

"Did you see anything else you wanted to try?" he asked quietly, buttoning the grey shirt up, then starting on Puck's jeans. The experience of Kurt pulling his jeans down to his ankles was achingly familiar, and Puck had to resist the urge to brace his hands on the wall and present his behind for a paddling. Instead, he let his hands stray to Kurt's belt, giving him a hopeful glance, to which Kurt responded with an incredulous, breathless laugh.

"My," he said, arching an eyebrow. "I don't think I'm _quite_ ready for blowjobs in the dressing room – at least not one without a locking door." His soft hand cupped Puck's cheek, and Puck felt himself melt into the touch, hearing Kurt murmur, "You are astonishing."

He helped Puck step into the pants, lingering several moments on the zipper, giving him a little friction. Kurt hummed with approval when Puck sighed at his touch. "Does that feel good, sweetheart?"

"Yeah," he said, just a whisper of sound. He was moving as though in a dense fog, as though he were blind and had to use all his other senses to find his way.

"Turn around," Kurt ordered, and Puck rotated to face the mirror on the wall. It was a bit of a shock, not only to see the expression on his face, dazed and wide-eyed, but to see himself in the grey shirt and the slacks Kurt had chosen to go with them.

"Wow," he said, hearing his voice come out surprisingly normal. "I look like – like –"

"Like you stepped out of Esquire," Kurt suggested, and his hands encircled Puck's chest from behind with broad strokes. "Like you belong in any Ivy League college dormitory. Like – I would be honored to have you on my arm."

Puck watched his face in the mirror break into an honest-to-fucking-god smile. "Really?" he said, with eagerness that would have been embarrassing around anyone besides Kurt.

"Noah," Kurt said, looking sad. "Don't you know that I always would have been? No matter what you wore?"

"Guys like you, they don't want guys like me," Puck said. "I'm trouble, Kurt. You don't need to deal with my shit."

Kurt shook his head, pulling Puck against him, letting him rest his head back against Kurt's chest. "I fell in love with _you,_ sweetheart, and that includes all your _shit._"

Puck groaned. "I have a hell of a lot of it."

"I'm here to help you with it," Kurt insisted. "I want you to _let_ me help. Dammit, Noah – you aren't _supposed_ to do this alone."

"Do what?" He felt light in the soft fabric, like he might float away, right off the ground.

"Any of it. Anything. Everybody needs other people – parents, friends. Lovers. Family." Kurt's hand stroked him from forehead to neck, and he thought he might start fucking _purring._ "I'm here to help take care of you. It's what I want."

"God, Kurt," Puck heard himself whine. "_Why?"_

"Because I love you." Kurt's strong hands turned him around and folded him into his arms, holding him tight. "I want to take care of you for – for as long as you'll let me."

He knew if he started crying now, he wouldn't be able to stop, and really, Macy's was _not_ the place for that, so he just trembled in Kurt's arms for a few minutes until he got himself back together. Kurt's petting didn't hurt, either. All of it, Kurt dressing him, his touch, made Puck feel warm and safe and more than a little turned on.

"I like this shirt," he said. "And these pants. They're soft."

"Me, too," Kurt agreed. "Let's get you something to wear under the shirt. I doubt you'll want to wear broadcloth for very long at the club."

Puck got dressed and followed Kurt out to find a suitable black t-shirt. "I already _have_ a whole bunch of those," he protested. "I could just wear an old one."

Kurt looked pointedly at him until he subsided. "No," he said. "You can't."

"Okay," he muttered. A weary guy, laden under packages and heavy hangers, shopping across the aisle with his wife, gave him a sympathetic expression. Puck wanted to stop him and explain that, _no,_ it was a very _good_ feeling he was having, but he really didn't know how to do that.

"Can I at least carry -?" he asked.

"Nope," Kurt said, choosing a second shirt for himself, this one in dark blue.

"Um," Puck said, and watched Kurt peruse the socks, touching them one at a time and holding them up to the shirt. He dutifully touched one pair that Kurt held out to him and nodded. "I'm feeling kind of… well, you're doing all the work. What's _my_ job here?"

"Relax and let me handle everything," Kurt said.

It was harder than it sounded, but Puck couldn't figure out why until they were standing in line at the checkout counter (with someone other than Mrs. Silverman behind the desk, Puck made sure). "I'm kind of used to taking care of stuff," he said.

"You get to Top the kitchen," Kurt agreed, handing her his debit card. "But when it comes to clothes? Sweetheart, _I'm_ in charge."

Puck followed two steps behind Kurt on the way back to the car, and this time, Kurt didn't stop him. It wasn't until they were inside the Navigator and the paper bags and their purchases had been safely stowed that Kurt hauled Puck's face across to his seat for a wet, tongue-ful kiss, one that was very unlike Kurt. "What – what just happened here?" he said, when Kurt let him go.

"God," Kurt gasped, pulling him halfway out of his seat in an effort to touch him. He thought he might climb right onto his lap, there in the car. "I'm not even sure, myself. But that was just about the hottest thing… god, _Noah,_ you, letting me tell you what to wear, and… and you in the dressing room?" He shuddered with reaction, and Puck stroked a hand down his leg to find Kurt entirely hard and ready.

"Baby," he said.

"Back seat." Kurt was already scrambling back there, fingers fumbling for his belt. Puck looked at the tinted windows, then at Kurt's hungry face, and decided if _Kurt_ was okay with it, he would be, too.

It was fast, and rather _loud, _and when Kurt forcibly took his head and _put_ him where he wanted him to go, Puck just followed his lead, kneeling on the floor of the second-row seat, thankful for the Navigator's spacious leg room. "Noah, Noah," Kurt moaned, his hips rolling and snapping up like he was already dancing. "God – you're _mine._ Mine."

Puck could only moan back, his mouth full of thrusting, pumping Kurt, and when he dragged a wet finger over Kurt's ass, he came, suddenly and with great enthusiasm. Puck dropped a hand down below his own legs to stroke himself, but Kurt was having none of that. "Here, on the seat," Kurt directed, not even bothering to put his pants back on. "Help me get these off."

Puck's jeans barely made it past his thighs before Kurt's mouth was on him, giving as good as he'd gotten, and Puck let himself say the words he'd been thinking in the store: "I want to take care of you, sometimes, too, you know."

Kurt paused and looked up at him, replacing his mouth with his hand. "You do," he insisted. "You really do. _I_ need this as much as _you_ do."

"Tonight," Puck said. "How are we going to be – tonight?"

"I hope you're not going to follow me around like you did in the store," Kurt said, running his free hand over Puck's stomach, under his shirt. "Because I don't think I could keep from doing this right in the middle of the club if you're going to let me be _that_ much in charge."

"I – really don't think it was a question of letting you," Puck gasped, as Kurt returned to what he was doing – and doing _well,_ at that. Kurt chuckled around Puck's cock, provoking an interesting sensation.

The image in his head when he came with a groan was not a particularly submissive one. In the minutes afterward, sprawled on the bench seat, catching his breath, Puck shared it with Kurt. "You'd look pretty hot in a collar yourself, baby."

He heard Kurt's breath hitch, and he put his hand on Kurt's soft hair. "Finn – hadn't mentioned that to me," Kurt said at last. "But I think I could – I mean, I think… it's so complicated right now, Noah, but…" His blue eyes gazed up at Puck, and it made his heart beat funny to see him kneeling like that, his head on his lap.

"I know," he said, brushing a stray hair back from Kurt's forehead. "Everything's so fucking complicated."

"It's good, though," Kurt said, coming up to sit on the seat beside him. "It's – it's good, right?"

"Yeah," said Puck. He reached out and took his hand. "It's good."


	17. Chapter 17

_(Author's note: I completely forgot to share the shirts from last chapter. http:/ www. flickr. com/ photos/nubianamy/6347213575/ I saw them over the summer while on my own shopping trip, and immediately thought, Puck and Kurt! The picture's been waiting since then. I'm glad to finally use it. -amy)_

* * *

><p>Puck's phone rang in the middle of breakfast. "Yo," he said, pushing his chair away from the table.<p>

"What was that all about with Brad, yesterday after Glee?" Mercedes said. "Are you planning something? Because I'm totally all about the sneaky."

"Good morning, Mercedes," he said, making Kurt jerk his head up from his waffles. He waved him back to breakfast and went around the corner into the front room. "I'm at Kurt's. Everybody's listening. I'll tell you later. What was this thing you wanted to do?"

"The ballad," she said. "I've been thinking about it. I have one for you."

"Really?" He was startled. "Huh. I'd kind of moved on from that assignment."

"No, really. It's a good one. Kind of for you and Kurt, and Finn. We just need a pianist. You know anybody besides Kurt? 'Cause I bet he'd fall apart, playing accompaniment for _this_ song, if he knows it's for him."

"I got it," said Puck. "You come with me to Brad's on Sunday. Then I can show you what we were playing. Maybe you can help with that, too." _Yeah – the descant part would sound so much better in her voice,_ he thought, with rising excitement.

"Okay," she said, surprised. "I could come over after church. Brad's? You guys are, like, buddies now?"

"He's been… helpful," Puck said. He realized Mercedes probably didn't know about Brad's two wives. _I'll have to give him the heads up._

"I heard about you three getting caught in the janitor's closet," she said. Now she sounded amused. "You've turned Kurt into a sex fiend, you know."

"Dude, I haven't _done_ anything. He's the one who – " He paused. "Uh. I totally don't know how much it's okay to talk about sex with friends who are girls."

"With me? I'll let you know if it's TMI. But details about Kurt are always good. Ammunition, you know."

"Uh-huh," he said, grinning. "I'm pretty sure I could shock you into not wanting to hear any more."

"Mmmm. You might be right about that. Okay – I'll come by around noon on Sunday. You'll be at Kurt's?"

"Finn's," he said. "We're coming back from the club and staying over there."

"I can't believe your parents let you _stay over."_ She sounded envious. "That's, like, way beyond cool."

"Sleepovers, man," he nodded. "Fucking awesome. See you Sunday."

Kurt gave him a funny look when he returned to the table. "Mercedes is coming over? To see _you?"_

"She wants to sing me a song, for that ballad assignment from Glee," he said. "Dude. I don't have one for her." Kurt began to laugh. "What?" Puck said.

"Sweetheart, you are the _epitome_ of ballads," he said. "Neil Diamond? Really. Just close your eyes and point. You'll find one."

* * *

><p>"What were you guys working on yesterday in the choir room office?" Kurt asked Brad as he closed his Debussy book.<p>

"Mmm," said Brad vaguely, running a hand over his beard. "Just something. Puck said you guys were going down to Dayton tonight?"

"It's our first date." Kurt knew a deflection when he heard it, but he also figured Puck would tell him when he was ready. He laughed. "I've never been on a date before. Which is funny, when you consider how far this relationship has come in the last few weeks." He slowly put his music into his messenger bag, lost in thought. "Going _out_, being… out. I'm surprisingly not worried about it."

"Well, it's just the two of you," Brad pointed out, opening the door to the hallway for Kurt. "That cuts out one possible point of confusion. And – you're going to that dance club?"

"_Yes,"_ he said, with enthusiasm. Apparently his reaction was amusing, because Brad laughed.

"Okay, then! So, probably a good number of kids there will be gay, too. So that's another point in your favor. But I think the thing that'll make it easiest for you is that it's a completely different town. Toby and—" Brad cut himself off. "Uh, Toby and his boyfriend go to other cities all the time to go dancing. He says it's more freeing to be in a city where he doesn't have to worry about running into his students when he's on a date."

"But – Toby… please, _tell_ me he's out," Kurt pleaded, looking at Brad with a raised eyebrow. Brad laughed again, nodding.

"I don't remember a time when Toby was _ever_ in the closet. There's not a closet that could hold him!"

"My dad says he's known I was gay since I was three," Kurt shrugged. "I suppose it's stamped on my forehead or something. It's – it's not that I worry about being out. I'm _there._ But Noah, and Finn – they would take a lot of abuse if – when –" He sighed and sank down into a kitchen chair. "I just can't contemplate it, watching them deal with the stuff _I_ deal with. It would kill me."

"You can probably imagine how they feel every day, then," Brad said. Now his face was grave. "I only see it from the periphery, but – it's hard for me, too. I know Will feels the same way. Seriously, Kurt, if there's _anything –"_

The front door slammed, and a thundering herd of two toddlers came barreling in, each of them wearing about a dozen layers of clothing. "We saw a _spider,"_ announced Duncan. "On the sidewalk."

"Was it an itsy-bitsy spider?" asked Kurt, watching Brad peel the layers off Cory. She nodded wordlessly. "Did it go up the water spout?"

"Hey," said Duncan, suspiciously. "How do _you_ know that song?"

Kurt smothered a smile. "Well, I'm a singer," he said.

"Like Uncle Will," Duncan said. "Do you have a microphone?"

"I have one!" Cory shouted, and tugged out of her father's grasp, still wearing one boot, and tore down the hallway, presumably to retrieve it. Laurie appeared at the door, shaking moisture out of her hair. She smiled at Kurt.

"It's snowing, honey," she said. "Hi, Kurt. How are things?"

"Fine," he said, somewhat automatically, then, knowing she deserved a better answer, added, "We're doing better this week. The book you gave us has been good to read together. We've read a little bit each night. It's given us a lot of food for thought."

"Books are a good place to start," Brad said, buffeting Laurie's cold hand between his. "Human beings are good, too. Why don't you and Finn and Puck come over for dinner next weekend? Will you be in town for Thanksgiving?"

"I – I think so," Kurt said, startled. "Um… we'd love to. Thank you."

"Check with your families and let us know," Laurie said. "We'll be around Saturday and Sunday."

Kurt spent the next ten minutes singing songs with Cory and Duncan into Cory's plastic microphone, which made their voice reverberate. Duncan continued to be impressed with Kurt's repertoire. "Do you know that one about the hole in the bucket?" he said, and when Kurt obliged with a verse or two, he shook his head in an adorable facsimile of his father.

"They're going to keep you singing until you're hoarse," said a flat voice, and he looked up to see a tiny dark-haired woman standing in the door, arms crossed.

"Kurt's a _singer,"_ Duncan said with disdain. "He's not a _horse."_

Cory went to the woman and hugged her around her knees, and the woman swept her up into her arms. "You're Kurt," she said.

"You're Andi," he replied. They grinned at each other. "It's good to meet you."

"I should say the same to you," she said. "You're, like, a legend. Will talks about you all the time."

Kurt felt a strange knot in his stomach at this news. "Really."

"Sure. Apparently you play football too? Something about getting the football players to dance?" She let Cory slither down to the floor and joined them, sitting cross-legged by the couch, and helped her daughter open the box to a jigsaw puzzle. "You don't look much like a football player."

"Not anymore. I was the kicker, for a few weeks in October. It feels like a lifetime ago." It really did. _Thank god we weren't dating then,_ he thought, with a shiver. _The locker room… that could have been really, really bad._ "So – you're a musician, too?"

"I'm a band director at the community college in Findlay. Saxophonist. I used to sing, though, with your director, at B-W. Also a lifetime ago." She grinned. "Me, and Brad, and Will and Toby. We did a lot of singing around the piano, popular music."

Kurt imagined it, filling in the faces of a younger Mr. Schue and Brad from the picture Laurie had shown him, adding in Toby and Andi. "Laurie doesn't sing?"

Andi handed a puzzle piece to Cory. "She does, but she was primarily a dancer. She did _Cats_ with Toby the summer we met; that was junior year. We were just a little bit older than you guys."

"_Cats -_ in high school?" Kurt stared at her in disbelief. "We can barely pull off _Oklahoma _at McKinley."

"Performing arts camp at Baldwin-Wallace," she said. "You should ask Will about it. We went every summer since fourth grade."

He eyed her obliquely. "So… that's where he and Toby met."

"Uh-huh." She was sharp, looking straight at him. "They've been best friends all their lives, since then."

"He went out to see him this weekend." Kurt found another puzzle piece and attached it to the puzzle, then another. "Again. He just went last weekend. He said… he said he and Mrs. Schuester were getting a divorce."

"What? He _said_ that?" She tipped her head back, staring at the ceiling. "Holy fuck. Sorry – that's news to me."

"It was just before he left. He didn't sound like he even had said anything to anyone yet. Maybe not even Mrs. Schuester."

Andi sighed and wrapped her hands around her knees. "Jesus. I'd better call her. This is not going to be good." She grimaced.

Kurt absently finished the jigsaw puzzle, not realizing what he was doing until Duncan complained, "Hey – you did the whole thing!"

Andi glanced down at the floor, then back at Kurt, smiling wryly. "Yeah. It looks like Kurt's put all the pieces into place."

* * *

><p>Puck had to admit he was impressed. Coco's Bistro was no Breadstix. The lighting was muted and the decor subtle and elegant. They had been greeted at the door by the maitre d' with the same courteous attitude they were showing all of the guests who came after them. Puck felt glad they'd dressed up for this, probably the fanciest restaurant he'd ever been in.<p>

Kurt looked equally impressed, his eyes sparkling as he glanced around the room. "Finn chose well," he said. "I think he spent two hours reading about Dayton restaurants on the Web last night before bed. He did more research on this date than he did on his American history paper."

Puck carefully unfolded his napkin, wondering how they got it to be in that origami shape, and opened the menu, surveying the specials. "I'm glad he was okay with us going to the club, even if it wasn't really his plan."

"He said we got to choose," Kurt pointed out, taking a sip of water.

Puck chewed on a piece of bread from the basket the waiter had set unobtrusively in front of them. It was crusty and soft in all the right places. "For being in charge, he was awfully hands-off about this date."

Kurt sighed. "Noah... Finn's been worried about you. He's noticed you pulling away. I've noticed it, too. Something's still bothering you - I know things weren't completely solved after your date." His eyes penetrated Puck, laying him bare to Kurt's scrutiny, and Puck had to look at the floor. Something about guilt made him want to dig into the sand and not come out until everyone else had gone away. "You wouldn't tell me before. Can you tell me now?"

"I -" He thought about Lady Tess, and what she'd said to him: _This is your decision. From start to finish._ He steeled himself and met Kurt's gaze. "It's about the baby," he began, and stopped, watching for a reaction.

"All right," Kurt said calmly, listening.

"I've had dreams about her. She - a lot of them. I don't really know what they're about, but I think... this is going to sound weird, but I think she _wants_ me. To be her Papa."

Kurt nodded, still staying calm. "And you want to do that."

"But Finn - Finn said I couldn't." He was a little ashamed at how petty and whiny he sounded. He'd bet Kurt heard it, too. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, and when he opened them again, Kurt was still there. "He said if I wanted to be with him, I couldn't have her."

"Oh, sweetheart," Kurt murmured, with such regret. Puck felt Kurt's hand on his, strong and safe, and he let it fill him with courage.

"I told Finn I wouldn't," he said. "But then - " He cut off, shaking his head. _He couldn't tell him._

The hand squeezed his. "Let's talk about this with Finn, together," Kurt said. "It's not that I don't want to hear it. It's clearly a big deal for you, and for him - and for _us._ I want to help. I think, together, we can figure it out."

Puck didn't know how to say what he meant, but he knew Kurt could fix just about anything, if he tried hard enough. He felt his breath come a little more easily, and his shoulders straighten. "Thanks," he said. "Really."

"You're welcome." Kurt released his hand and pushed his chair back, setting his napkin on his plate. "I'll be back."

Puck bet himself that he could predict, down to the last course, what Kurt would order off the menu. _Mushroom bruschetta,_ he thought, _and butternut rigatoni. And I totally would have garnished that with nuts. What were they thinking? And... probably the bananas Foster, because, hello, flaming dessert. And coffee, to stay awake on the drive home._

He didn't even mention it when Kurt recited his order; he just smiled to himself and marveled at how he'd come to know this boy so well after such a short time. "I'll have the cumin-dusted mahi," he said, handing the waiter his menu. He didn't even wait for the waiter to walk away before taking Kurt's hand again, and Kurt gave him a tentative smile.

"Noah," he said.

"Hey, I'm on a date with my boyfriend," Puck said. "I'm not going to _not_ hold his hand."

"Okay," Kurt said, and his smile grew. It made Puck feel a little faint, the way he was looking at him.

"What is it?" he asked.

Kurt shook his head, still smiling. "Just you." He ran his fingers over Puck's knuckles. "You look fantastic."

"You, too," Puck said, indicating the blue shirt (the _actual_ Marc Jacobs, he presumed) and scarf Kurt was wearing. "I kind of feel like I'm wearing a costume. This - it's not really me, is it? But it's okay. I like it."

"Everybody's going to want to dance with you tonight." Kurt's lips twitched.

"You should talk, baby," Puck protested. "I'm going to expect to see you grinding with at least three other guys before the night's over, you understand?"

Kurt let loose a peal of surprised laughter. "Really? You _want_ to see me dancing with other boys?"

"Sure." He made a gesture of dismissal. "Baby, you're _awesome. _You can have anybody you want. I don't have any problem with that. Just so long as you still plan to come home with me afterwards."

Kurt's face went red. "God, Noah." He rested his chin in his hand, looking coy. "Well. I guess I do have kind of a fantasy."

"Now you're talking," Puck said. "Come on. What is it?"

"Okay... it's not any big deal. I go into a club and get the hottest guy to notice me, and dance with him, get him all riled up. Then at the end of the night, I walk out on somebody else's arm, saying, "Sorry, I'm taken."

"That's it?" Puck wrinkled his brow. "We need to raise the bar on your fantasies."

"Well, it was always Finn I was walking out with, when I was thinking about it," Kurt admitted, "but I'm just as happy to have it be you."

"There's just one problem with that fantasy," Puck said. "The hottest guy in the club? That's going to be _you._ Everybody's going to want to make out with you."

"I think not." Kurt's eyebrows went up. "Even if they did, I wouldn't. I mean, not that there's anything wrong with that."

"Sure?" Puck shrugged, and took a big gulp of water. "You don't mind if _I_ dance with other guys? Cause I've never actually ever danced with _any_ guys. Kind of my big opportunity."

"Mine, too," Kurt nodded. "I'd like to dance with _you."_

"Well, of course. And I promise, I'll walk out with you so you can say that line to the second-hottest guy in the club."

"It's a deal," Kurt grinned, touching his hand. "Although I might end up walking out with the hottest guy, after all."

* * *

><p>It was just starting to snow as Kurt pulled the Navigator into the parking lot behind Masque. They could see a line already beginning to form around the block, comprised of both adults and teenagers, dressed in everything from jeans and t-shirts to hard core chains and piercings. Puck raised an appreciative eyebrow at one guy in a leather vest and ripped cutoffs. "I bet he's cold," he said.<p>

"He'll warm up inside," Kurt shrugged, shivering a little, himself. Puck slipped an arm around him, and he smiled gratefully.

Puck couldn't believe all the kids waiting to get into this bar were really gay. He peered up and down the line. Most folks looked pretty ordinary. He could tell he and Kurt were overdressed, but he didn't really care. Anyway, he kind of liked the admiring glances they were receiving.

"My dad's going to freak out about this weather." Kurt pulled his phone out of his pocket and sighed. "I'm going to do some damage control now. I don't want him calling halfway through the evening and telling us to head home." He squinted at the snow silhouetted on the grey night sky. "Hi, dad. We're in line now. Yes - the snow's here too. It's not that cold." Puck pulled him closer to help keep the shiver out of his voice. "Dinner was excellent."

"It was okay," Puck amended, speaking into the phone. "The fish -"

"Yes, Noah, I _know_ you would have cooked the fish differently," Kurt interrupted. "_My_ dinner was fantastic. They had this amazing dessert that they poured alcohol over and lit..."

Puck grinned. _Now I have to make him cherries jubilee. More opportunities to set desserts on fire._

The thumping bass of club music filtered out into the street and created an infectious atmosphere of excitement. Kurt was bouncing on his heels by the time they made it to the door. The sandy-haired guy at the door had a stamp for their hand and a friendly smile. "First time here?" he said to Puck.

"Yeah," he said, suspiciously. "How'd you know?"

"I'm the co-owner," he said, "and I definitely would have remembered that mohawk. Have a good time."

It took them a few minutes for their ears to adjust to the overwhelming noise of the club. Puck saw flashing, glittering lights and a multitude of colors, styles and patterns on the dance floor, even before he registered any of the faces of the dancers. They all seemed to be having a great time.

"I can't believe we're _here,"_ Kurt spoke into his ear over the noise. Puck smiled and squeezed his hand. He wanted to say something in return, but Kurt was already tugging him forward through the crowd to the dance floor. He spotted a group of guys playing pool in a nearby annex, and several couches along the side of the room where people were sitting, drinking and talking as best as they could over the din.

Puck was almost certain he'd see someone he knew, but so far, there was no one. He relaxed a fraction, watching the crowd. It was even more ordinary than he'd expected. Drag queens notwithstanding, it felt pretty much like a regular club.

_Except for those two guys making out in the corner,_ he thought, bemused, and was caught up in watching them for a little too long before Kurt coaxed him onto the floor. He put his hands on Puck's shoulders and looked him right in the eye.

"Thank you," he said.

Puck smiled quizzically. "For what?"

"Dinner. And this. It's just what I wanted."

"Shouldn't you be thanking Finn?" he said.

Kurt laughed, drawing him close. "Oh, I will," he assured him. "But I know who talked to my dad, and I know who planned this thing. I just wanted you to know that I appreciate it."

And - he kissed him, right there, in front of everybody in the bar. And _god, _did it feel good.

"You're exactly who I want to be here with," Kurt murmured, stroking his head once. Puck felt a thrill pass through him, and he smiled against his mouth before kissing him again. "Now - let's have a great time."

Puck let Kurt lead him into the throng on the dance floor, and he took a moment to glance around and see what was the norm for dancing here; there were couples plastered against each other, and groups moving like amoebas, and nobody looked twice at anything. Puck took a deep breath and pulled Kurt to him, one hand at the small of his back, and started them both moving to the heavy thump of the bass. He felt Kurt stiffen for a fraction of a second before going liquid and boneless and sleek, and Puck almost couldn't believe the way Kurt had transformed right in front of his eyes like that.

"God, baby, you're really hot." Puck leaned over and whispered in Kurt's ear, and Kurt's only reply was a hand snaking around the back of Puck's neck pulling them together for a deep kiss.

"Because of you," Kurt said, low and lush in the moment before he twirled away, arms upraised, one with the music. Puck watched him, the way he moved with the crowd. Like he was a part of something bigger. _Like he belongs here,_ he thought,_ in a different way than he belongs with Finn and me._

The press and motion of the crowd heated the place up more quickly than Puck would have anticipated, but it wasn't until he realized Kurt was unbuttoning his shirt that he remembered he had a t-shirt on underneath. _Not that the nipple ring would have been that out of place, _he admitted, shrugging the shirt off he shoulders and starting on Kurt's buttons.

"Finn's never going to believe that you let me undress you in front of all these guys," he grinned, and Kurt laughed, slipping his arms out of the patterned sleeves. The dark blue of his shirt made his eyes look especially blue, and Puck had to admire that for a few minutes before he could do anything else. Kurt left the scarf on. On him, it was just right.

Puck found an unclaimed couch near the bar and draped their shirts carefully over the back to avoid wrinkling them. He kind of got how Kurt was so protective of his clothes. If he wore clothes like this every day, he'd want to take care of them, too.

On his way back to the dance floor, he noticed Kurt surrounded by a group of guys around their age. Kurt was talking animatedly to two of the guys, one of whom had shaggy black hair and was paying _very_ close attention to what he was saying, and who also appeared to be checking out his arms in his tight t-shirt. Puck grinned to himself and decided to sit at the bar to watch. _It's about time Kurt got some attention. He deserves it._

"Could I get a beer?" he said, setting his fake ID on the counter.

The bartender didn't even bother to look. "Sorry, kid. No beer for you. How about a virgin cocktail?"

"Dude," he smirked, scooping his ID up before the bartender could confiscate it. "Do I _look_ like a virgin?" But he accepted the picture menu of fancy drinks with umbrellas and shit with good humor.

"Look at that one," said the boy sitting next to him, pointing. "I'm not sure I could even get my lips close enough to the glass to drink a drop. What is that, a toy boat?"

Puck grinned. "I just want to get one of those tiny swords. I used to love those things when I was a kid."

"Oh, yeah," the boy said, his hazel eyes gleaming. "Let's each get one, and then we can have a swordfight."

"That's not some kind of gay thing, is it?" Puck said, and the boy turned beet red, looking at his hands. "What's that called, you know - wink wink nudge nudge?"

"Euphemism." His words were barely audible over the thump of the music and the clatter of glasses and voices around them at the bar. "I don't think so."

"Right." Puck nudged his arm in apology. "Sorry. It's my first time at a bar like this."

The boy shook his head, still keeping his eyes downcast. "I actually have no idea if it is one or not. It's my first time, too."

Puck tried not to stare too obviously at the boy's dark curls and flushed face. It was clear he was even newer to this than Puck. "You here with friends?" Puck pointed at the least adorned of all the virgin cocktails and said to the bartender, "We'll have two of those."

"Yeah, friends." The boy waved to the dance floor, to the group of boys Kurt was in the middle of. "We all go to school together. Some of the guys thought this would be a fun way to let off some steam, and to do some team-building or something." He shook his head and laughed softly. "It isn't enough that we have practice every day, we have to go out together on the weekends too?"

"You can hang out with me, if you want," Puck offered. "At least until we're done with our cocktails. I'm holding you to that swordfight. No euphemism."

The boy had a very nice smile, Puck thought, and he found himself smiling back. They both reached for the same cocktail when the bartender set them down on the little napkins in front of Puck, and their hands brushed. He was a little surprised at the shiver that ran through him at their touch, and Puck watched the boy react similarly. He jerked his hand back, averting his eyes, and waited.

Finally Puck slid one of the cocktails over in front of the boy. He held his aloft. "Cheers," he said. "To... new experiences."

The boy smiled and lifted his own drink, and they clinked the rims of their glasses. "New experiences," he said, his hazel eyes sparkling and bright above his glass as he took a drink. They nibbled the fruit off their sword-shaped skewers - Puck didn't bother not to watch him do _that,_ because, euphemism or not, it was pretty hot - and they clashed their pink and yellow sabers amid laughter.

Puck's eyes searched the floor and found Kurt dancing knee to knee with the black-haired boy who'd been admiring him earlier. Kurt didn't look like he was minding the attention at all. Puck made sure to catch Kurt's eye and give him a wide smile and a thumbs-up. Kurt's return smile was brilliant, and he did a move that just about sent the black-haired boy into fits of adoration. Puck sighed happily. _How fucking lucky am I to be with a guy like that?_

"How about you?" said the boy hesitantly, watching Puck's gaze directed toward the dancing throng. "Are... are you here with... anyone?"

Puck thought about how this might go. _Yes, I'm here with my boyfriend. _The boy would beat a hasty retreat. _No, it's cool; he said I can dance with other guys._ The boy would give him a dirty look and he'd never see him again. He felt a sudden stab of bitter disappointment at the thought. Finally he set his glass down. "Well," Puck said, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder, "right now I'm here with you. Let's dance."

The boy followed him onto the dance floor and threw himself into the music with startling abandon. It was like the music made him someone else, in addition to the shy boy he'd been at the bar. _I totally get that_, Puck thought. It was like that for him, too. He let the music guide his motions, moving in close, the way he would if he were dancing with a girl - though he was very aware how the crowd surrounding him was _definitely_ not mostly girls, and over half of them were grinding pretty heavily on each other. He didn't think the boy who'd blushed so deeply at the bar over sword-innuendo was ready for that, so he kept a cushion of air between the two of them, letting the other boy set the pace.

Three songs in, the boy moved closer, so that they were almost, but not quite, touching. Puck let himself get lost just a little bit more in the music and the motion and the sheer presence of this boy who was making Puck jittery in all kinds of ways. Now he was close enough to hear, over the thumping beat, that the boy was singing a little under his breath to the music.

_If you change your mind, I'm the first in line  
><em>_Honey I'm still free - take a chance on me_

He let himself watch the boy's full lips, moving to the lyrics, and when he glanced back up to the boy's eyes, he could tell the boy was watching him right back. _For his first time at a club, _he thought, feeling a little dizzy with attraction, _he was doing all the right things. _The boy was fluid, graceful. _Like Kurt_, Puck thought - in the brief instant before the push of bodies around them sent the boy stumbling, crashing close and into Puck's space.

Puck held him close, hand tight on the boy's upper arm, and the boy leaned in like he wanted something, eyes wide. _Like he wants you_, his mind said. _Wants you, wants you_, echoing over and over as Puck stood there, staring into those bright eyes and feeling his own pulse pounding in his fingertips. _Oh, fuck it,_ he finally decided in the instant before he pulled the boy full against him and pressed their lips together.

The boy tensed for a moment before falling into the kiss - and it was _hot. _ Puck could feel the wanting, coiling in his own belly with every move the boy made, and he knew he had to get them both someplace that wasn't this damn dance floor. "Wait," he growled, pulling away. "We need-" he scanned the room, looking for a dark corner or an exit door or a hallway. His eyes finally seized onto a sliver of light peeking from under a door, and he grabbed the boy's hand in his. "This way."

Without hesitation, the boy followed, threading their way through the crowd. Puck barely had time to spot Kurt on his way off the dance floor, but Kurt didn't see him go; he was far too wrapped up in his dancing. Puck only felt a vague unease at his actions, but mostly he was just _way_ too turned on to do anything other than drive them forward through the crowd and through the door marked _Staff Only._ It was just their good luck that the room was empty.

As soon as they were through the door, Puck had the other boy against him again, mouths sloppy and hands _everywhere_. The boy was loose and pliant, surging forward into every touch of Puck's hand against him and every sweep of Puck's tongue into his mouth.

"You feel fucking incredible," Puck muttered against the boy's neck, letting his fingers dig into his curls and tug, snapping his head back and baring his throat. The other hand ventured down his spine, and lower, pulling their hips together and provoking twin moans from them both. Puck watched the boy's frightened eyes, at odds with the almost desperate motion of his body against his, and recognized something there. _I know what he needs,_ he realized with a shock, even as he knew the boy wasn't ready for it yet, and there was no fucking way he was going to get into something like _that_ in a public place.

But he did bring his hand back around and grip the boy's throat for one instant, making him gasp. "You want this," he said, pitching it low, making it gentle, but clearly not a question.

"God," the boy whimpered.

Puck stroked his cheek, smiling, and tried one of those grinding moves he'd seen on the dance floor, now, on the boy, who was definitely not objecting. "I got it," he said, still using that low, gentle voice. "Just let me - I got it."

He let the pressure of his leg provide friction against the boy's hardness, and heard him gasp and moan, and Puck kissed him again, their mouths rough against each other. "I've never -" the boy panted. "I don't know - I can't -"

"Sure you can," said Puck, supporting his weight against one arm. "It's okay. I'll take care of it."

He waited for the boy to make up his mind, and he could see the anxiety flickering across his face, warring with overwhelming desire. Finally, slowly, he moved his leg away, and let the boy go, leaning him against the wall. Though he was clearly disappointed, and breathless with wanting, his primary response was relief. Puck felt the energy of the moment ebb. As much as he wanted to make this boy writhe and come in his stylish jeans, he was kind of proud of himself for making the right decision.

"I'm sorry," the boy said, and Puck shook his head, touching his tight, gelled curls.

"No reason," he said gruffly. "It's not the right time."

The boy bit his lip, glancing sideways, avoiding Puck's gaze. _Hadn't he done that very thing, this evening with Kurt? _He knew just what the boy was feeling. Puck shook his head.

"No, don't feel guilty."

The boy set out a shuddering, heartfelt breath, and closed his eyes. "It's me," he said. "I'm - such a spaz. I can't believe I -"

"Dude," Puck said, cutting him off. "That was _really_ hot." He tried that move that always got him to pay attention, taking the boy's chin in his hand, and snapped his gaze up to meet his. "You did just fine. Understood?"

"Yes - yes," the boy said, in a hurry, and Puck couldn't help but smile. _Damn. It works on him, too. _He felt a rush of compassion and heat and fucking _lust_ course through him, and a second later he'd claimed the boy's mouth again, one last kiss.

_Maybe just one more,_ he thought, as he pulled away, and would have probably continued for some time had they not been interrupted by the sandy-haired guy who'd greeted them at the door. His eyebrows went up and he motioned with his thumb. "Out," was all he said, but his tone was mild, and there was a smile lurking around his lips.

The boy scrambled out the door, not meeting the man's eyes, and Puck sauntered after him. The man touched his arm on the way out, indicating the boy with a gesture. "He's not the guy you came in with," he said.

"No," said Puck, "and he's not the guy I'm going home with, either. _That _guy is currently out there, dancing with the hottest dude on the dance floor."

"Mmmm," said the man, contemplating him, but finally nodded and let him go.

He only saw the boy once more before he and his friends left. They were clustered in the corner, laughing about something. He caught the boy's eye, and the boy's smile stuttered briefly, like he'd had a shock. They watched each other for a long moment.

"Come on, Anderson," said the black-haired boy who'd been dancing with Kurt, tugging his sleeve.

The boy ducked his head and turned away, and the group headed for the door. Then Kurt was beside him, his smile familiar, and Puck grabbed him, sweaty shirt and all, and held him close.

"What - are you okay?" he asked, trying to pull back far enough to look into his face, but Puck just squeezed him tight.

"I love you," he said.

Kurt gave a surprised laugh. "I - Noah, what's going on?"

"I'll tell you on the way home," he said. "Let's enjoy the time we have left."

* * *

><p><em>'Cos you know I've got<br>__So much that I wanna do, when I dream I'm alone with you  
><em>_It's magic  
><em>

_You want me to leave it there, afraid of a love affair  
><em>_But I think you know  
><em>_That I can't let go_

- ABBA, "Take A Chance on Me"


	18. Chapter 18

_(Author's note: Sorry for the short update. I figured you'd want something rather than nothing. It's a busy work week, and I'm mostly writing futurefic these days (which you will not see for several more weeks, at least)! I promise to get to some Gold Mine this weekend. Enjoy! -amy)_

* * *

><p>Burt heard the door bang open before he heard the yelling, but he heard plenty and enough to make him glad he didn't hear what had come before.<p>

"Kurt – Kurt, don't _do_ this. We can keep talking, don't – _fuck."_

More door slamming, this time inside, and silence. Burt hurried down to the basement to find Puck sitting on the arm of the couch, his head in his hands.

"What happened?" he said.

"I fucked up," he said. "Again." Puck's eyes that came up to meet Burt's were red-rimmed and full of self-recrimination. "Even though I told you I'd take care of him."

"Don't worry, Puck," Burt said, crouching down in front of him. "I know my son. Just because he's throwing a diva fit doesn't mean he's not being taken care of. Now, tell me what's going on."

Puck rubbed his hands over his face. "God. I'm not sure I want to tell you, because _apparently_ the thing I thought was okay, _wasn't."_ The last he called in the direction of Kurt's closed door.

"What thing, Puck? Talk to me."

He just shook his head, squeezing his eyes tight. The door to the garage opened and Finn stepped in, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt and looking grim.

"Sorry to be here so late, Burt," he said quietly. "I think Puck and Kurt and I have something to discuss."

Burt went to Kurt's door and knocked. "Kurt. Finn's here. If you won't talk to me or Puck, will you at least talk to him?"

There was a brief silence, and then Burt heard his voice, choked with tears, say, "Okay."

Finn shot an apologetic glance at Burt and ducked through the door, closing it behind him. Burt could hear the hum of their conversation begin immediately, Kurt furious and crying, Finn soothing and calm. Eventually it subsided into quiet murmurs. Burt turned back to Puck, who was pacing back and forth across the room.

"You might as well tell me," Burt said. "I'll get it out of Kurt at 3am."

"Dude," Puck moaned. "It's not the kind of thing you talk about with your _boyfriend's dad."_

Burt put a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension. "I should hope you know I'm not just that to you. Come on. If I can handle it, so can you."

Puck's eyes flickered up to Burt's, agonized, but then he sighed. "We were dancing. There was a… a boy. We, uh… got friendly."

"Hmm." Burt cleared his throat. "Back in the stone age, when I was in high school, it was bad form to dance with another girl, when you were on a date."

"But that was just it," Puck protested. "We talked about it at dinner. I thought we were cool."

"So Kurt said he didn't mind it if you were dancing with this guy?"

Puck's motions stilled, and he paused. "Yeah. But we, uh, we weren't just dancing."

Burt ignored the flush of his own cheeks. "You said. That was okay with Kurt, too?"

"I said – I told him it didn't bother me, if he wanted to, and he said he… well, that he wouldn't. But I _wouldn't_ care, honest."

"I got that," Burt nodded patiently. "But what did _Kurt_ say? Do you guys have some kind of agreement or something that talks about… new people?" He ran a hand over his forehead. _Jesus, Mary and Joseph. More boyfriends? I'm going to run out of room at the dinner table. _

"Uh." Puck thought about it, then cocked his head at Burt. "I don't think so. I mean – we talked about – being safe. With other people." He looked hesitant. "You know what I mean?"

"I know what you mean," Burt said hurriedly. He could feel himself starting to sweat. "But – you and this boy didn't have to worry about… that… did you?"

"No," Puck said, shaking his head. "No – it was just…"

"You don't have to tell me." Burt held up a hand, before Puck gave him any more details. "I think I see the problem. You guys need to come up with a plan. I can see how it wouldn't have been a question before. You're not usually hanging out, you know, where dudes would… get friendly, with other dudes. But when you're out in the world, you'll have more chances to meet other people." He squeezed Puck's shoulder. "This is not an ordinary relationship. The regular rules, they probably don't apply. You've got to talk it through. Or else someone's gonna get hurt."

"Kurt," Puck whispered, his face white. "I did. I hurt him."

"He'll get over it," Burt said. "You guys care about each other. You can work it out."

Puck slumped down in his seat, letting his head hang. "He wasn't listening much on the way home. He just wanted to yell at me."

"That sounds like Kurt. Give him a night to recover. He'll come around." Burt thumped on Kurt's door. "I'm taking Puckerman upstairs," he called. "Finn, come up and find me when you guys are done talking, okay?" He didn't wait for an answer.

Puck followed Burt up the stairs to the kitchen meekly and dropped into the stool Burt indicated for him at the kitchen island. It was a familiar old routine: the pan on the stove, the milk in the pan, the heat on low, stirring frequently. It always calmed Burt, to do this for Kurt, when _he_ needed calming.

Puck was still and silent for a time, and then he shifted on his stool. "There's something else."

"Okay," said Burt gamely. "What's up?"

"Quinn – she and Finn were dating earlier this year… she and I hooked up, once, in August. She, uh, she got pregnant."

"Kurt mentioned that." Burt adjusted the wooden spoon so it would cover the bottom of the pan more evenly, not looking directly at Puck as he struggled to get the words out. "She's keeping the baby?"

"No – she decided to give it up for adoption." He took a deep breath. "I petitioned the court for parental rights."

"You -?" Burt stopped stirring and stared at Puck. "Puck?"

"She's my baby," he said, with as much passion as Burt had ever heard from him. "She's _my_ baby. I _can't_ let her belong to somebody else."

Burt let his breath out slowly. "Jeez, kid." He shook his head. "You don't do things halfway, do you?"

"My lawyer drew up the papers. Quinn signed them, with the approval of her parents. It's all done. But…"

"A lot of buts," Burt said. He went back to stirring the milk, feeling a headache beginning behind his eyes. "A lot of things to consider, Puck."

"I know." Puck's voice was low. "I'm having trouble thinking about anything else. I wish –"

He stopped, and Burt waited for him to continue. Eventually, he prompted, "What do you wish?"

"Finn… he helps me sort through this stuff. Talking to him – it's like, I can't really figure out what I'm feeling until I say it to him, and he says it back to me. Otherwise I'm just all confused." He heaved a frustrated sigh. "But Finn won't – he said he doesn't want me to…"

"Finn's pretty sensible. I'm guessing he's not too keen on the idea of taking care of a baby." He gave Puck a probing look, and figured there was more to it, but didn't press him. "He's trying to convince you to change your mind?"

"He said I had to choose one or the other," Puck said. "Him or the baby." He stared up at Burt, now, and his face was solemn. "I chose."

"You –" Burt saw the answer at once. "You chose the baby."

"Yeah." Puck closed his eyes. "Finn – he doesn't know yet."

"What about Kurt?"

"Every time I try to bring it up, something keeps me from telling him. I told him part of it, tonight at dinner, but he said he wanted to wait until we got home, to talk with Finn. And then this – _god. _I feel like such a -"

"Stop. That's not going to help." Burt knew Puck well enough by now to know Puck needed a sharp nudge to get out of this mood. Puck's startled glance told Burt he'd hit his target. "You need to think about one thing at a time. But you're _not_ alone. No matter what Finn says, he'll be around. You guys have been friends too long for that not to be the case. And Kurt, and me."

Puck firmed up his jaw and brushed moisture out of his eyes, and accepted the cup of milk from Burt. "Okay." He sipped the cup, and twitched his nose. "Kurt put cinnamon into this."

"Good thought," Burt said, feeling a stab of sentimentality at the thought of his little boy making warm milk for someone, and handed him the box. Puck sprinkled a little on top and took a sip, smiling slightly.

"He said it had something else in it, but I'm pretty sure it was just milk."

"That's all you need," Burt said. _Milk, and love. We've got both in abundance here._

* * *

><p>"Baby," Finn said, unhappily, as he slipped into the room, and took Kurt into his arms. He was a mess, his face red and blotchy, like he'd been crying for a long time and hadn't had time to clean up. His fists were clenched and he was wound tighter than a drum.<p>

"I thought he'd at least _tell_ me first," Kurt was saying, each word laced with anger and hurt. "Even if he wasn't going to_ ask,_ it's not so much to expect that he would at least _say _something before he did it? This was _our date._ My _first_ date."

Finn didn't mention the dates he and Kurt had had, weeks and weeks ago, because this wasn't about being right, and Kurt was clearly beyond caring. "Can you tell me what happened?" he asked.

"I didn't even _see_ him dancing with him," Kurt went on. "Can you believe that? I was so caught up in what I was doing that I didn't even notice him doing – anything. He could have given him a blowjob on the middle of the stage for all I would have cared. I never thought – I never _dreamed _that he would –"

"Wait a second," Finn interrupted. "Puck – with another guy, right?"

"Yes," Kurt hissed. "Another boy, he just –"

"Kurt." Finn led him to the edge of the bed. "This is _Puck._ Sex shark, remember? The one who slept with Quinn, just _because?"_

"Because why?" Kurt was too worked up to see what Finn was getting at. "Why would he do that to me? Why would –"

"Kurt," he said again. "He didn't do it _to you._ He did it because of who he is. It doesn't mean he loves you any less. It doesn't mean – _anything_ – about you."

Kurt rolled his eyes, desperate pain in his expression. Finn watched the tears roll down Kurt's face, and he ached for him. He wanted to make it okay. "How do you know?" he said. "How do you _know?_ Because if he wanted another guy, doesn't that mean – I'm not giving him enough? I'm not good enough, for him?"

"No," Finn said firmly. "It _doesn't_ mean that. Kurt, you love Puck. Does that mean you want me any less? Am _I_ not good enough?"

"Finn, of course not –"

"Okay," Finn agreed. "It doesn't. All it means - _all_ it means - is Puck met another person, was attracted to him, and acted on it. He does that, you know. Most people just _think_ about doing it, or fantasize. Puck _goes for it._ That's all."

Kurt let Finn take him in a half-hug, holding him close, offering warmth and comfort. "I don't know if I can deal with that," Kurt admitted. "It's – it hurts. It hurts a lot, Finn."

"I'm sorry, baby," said Finn, as Kurt burst into tears again. This time he was there to let him cry against his chest. "I'm sorry it hurts. You didn't do anything wrong. But – neither did Puck."

"How can you say that?" Kurt burst out. "How can you say he – didn't he _cheat?"_

"By whose definition? By most people's, we're cheating on each other."

Kurt shook his head stubbornly. "That's different, and you know it. We're already together. We agreed to it, together."

"Not until after we'd started doing things, if you recall," he pointed out. "Kurt, are you listening to yourself? Remember what happened at Puck's house, when he made us breakfast?" He held Kurt firmly by the shoulders. "This is about being honest. Was Puck doing that?"

Kurt looked abashed, but then his gaze steadied. "No, Finn. If he'd been _honest, _he would have talked to me first. He would have said something."

"I understand that's what you _wish_ would have happened. But, baby, come on. Be honest with _yourself_. That's not the way Puck's brain works. How can you seriously expect him to come to you beforehand?" He stroked Kurt's face, calming him further. "Did he tell you about it afterwards?"

Kurt nodded, stiffly. "He – he hugged me and told me he loved me. And then, as soon as we got into the car…" All the breath went out of him in a sigh, and he hung his head. "Jesus. He told me right away. He told me everything."

"That's Puck's honesty," Finn said. "It's like, he doesn't even know he's feeling stuff until he does something about it. I think, if he actually does that, that's complete honesty from him." He stroked Kurt's hair meditatively. "But it's up to you to decide if you can live with that. You don't have to."

"Seriously?" Kurt shook his head, laughing softly. "Finn. Really. You think I could _choose_ to be without him? I couldn't do that, any more than I could choose to be without _you."_

"You don't have to worry about that," Finn said, with clear finality. "Not with either of us."

Kurt's body melted into him, and Finn pulled him down onto his knee, hugging him. "I feel – god. What a mess. Do you think Noah's…?"

"He's got your dad, upstairs. But Burt told me to come up when I was done. I'll go up and talk to Puck first, and then we'll both come down together. Okay?"

"Okay," Kurt agreed, accepting Finn's lead. Finn felt a gratifying rush of satisfaction at that, and kissed him gently.

"Why don't you tell me about the rest of your night," Finn suggested. "It sounds like it was a good one, for the most part."

Kurt's smile was genuine. "It was. We had a wonderful time."

"Let's start with that, then," said Finn. "Tell me the whole story."


	19. Chapter 19

_(Author's note: Okay. This is how it's going to be. I had so much plot to get through, but this was the time I had to write this scene, so I wrote the rest in vignettes instead of complete scenes. I had to do it alone, and I had to do it all at once. Plus, it's Thanksgiving, and I wanted to be able to post the Thanksgiving scenes now. So I woke up at 4am and wrote for five and a half hours. Here's the resulting 10k. _

_It just about destroyed me, writing this scene that's been in my head since late May when I started writing the Donutverse. I'm glad to have it out, finally. I'm also sad to say there's more Puck angst to come. Over 40k of it has already been written. Luckily it's mixed in with love and sex and humor, and an essentially OC, to be named soon. But this - this is pure Glee drama, with a tiny bit of Will and Toby for romantic relief. Thanks to songirl77 for writing the beautiful lyrics to Will's song. Maybe someday I'll write the music. Until then you'll just have to imagine it. _

_There are several scenes at the end that are straight out of the show, with a few minor changes. One in particular, the last scene, is exactly the same with the characters speaking the scenes switched._

_The music is all available in one Youtube playlist here: snipurl. com/archershand_

_I'd say enjoy, but it's a bit much for that, so just hang on. -amy)_

* * *

><p>LATE SATURDAY NIGHT, NOV 20<p>

The three of them ended up on the green couch after Puck was done with Burt, Finn on the long arm, Kurt in the middle square, and Puck on the short arm. It wasn't where he usually sat, but he wasn't quite ready to sit that close to Finn, not yet.

"Am I in trouble?" he said. "Because Burt pretty much already ran me the riot act."

"Dude, you're not in trouble," Finn said patiently. "I just wanted us to all talk, together, about what happened. It's complicated, right? Let's just make sure we don't forget anything here."

They talked about the mall, and how hot it had been shopping for clothes with Kurt, and the blowjob in the Navigator (Finn wasn't thrilled to hear about it – "Dude, you could have gotten _caught!"—_ but he thought maybe it was even more of a turn-on because of that), and their dinner in Dayton, how easy it was to be out, and dancing together at the club. Kurt talked about the boys from the prep school, and how much he'd enjoyed dancing with them, how wonderful it felt to be the one that everyone was looking at with _pleasure_, for once.

Puck talked about the boy with the curly hair and the flushed face, and their sword innuendo, and what he'd felt when they'd been dancing and he realized the boy knew less about this than _he_ did, and how much of a rush that was. He talked about how proud he'd been to be in charge, and take the boy somewhere he wanted to go, and _stop_ himself before they went anywhere he didn't.

And Kurt cried once more, but he crawled over to Puck's end of the couch and snuggled on top of _him_ for a change, and Finn smiled at them.

"I know you, Puck," said Finn, holding on to Puck's foot while Kurt cried in his arms. "You need to tell us when you realize things. But it's not a lie, if you don't realize them until then. It's okay."

It _was_ okay… but they _did_ forget something, and it wasn't until much later in the night, when Puck woke up on his own, that he realized it. _Her. We didn't talk about her._

He wondered if Kurt had realized it. They were going to – all of them together, and it was going to be out. His secret. He'd told Burt, hadn't he? He could tell Finn. He could tell Kurt.

But he fell back to sleep before he could think it through, and it was 3 am, after all. It could wait until the morning.

* * *

><p>SUNDAY, NOV 21<p>

Puck stopped whisking the eggs when he saw the expressions on Burt and Kurt's faces. They were equally determined. "Uh… what did I do?"

"Nothing," Kurt assured him. "We just need to talk to you about something serious."

_Uh-oh._ He sank into a chair. "All right. What is it?"

Burt took a deep breath. "Thanksgiving."

Puck, braced for the worst, continued to wait until he realized that was all Burt was going to say. "What?"

"Thanksgiving dinner," Kurt said. "We want you to let us cook for you."

"What?" he repeated.

"You've been so great at making fantastic dinners for us these past couple weeks. We want to give you something back. Let us plan the dinner, and cook you something amazing for a change." Kurt smiled. "Wouldn't that be nice?"

"Uh, not really," Puck muttered.

"Great! Here's what I had in mind." Kurt opened the top of a stack of several magazines to the first Post-It flagged page. Puck let him talk him through his absurd ideas about a nouveaux Thanksgiving. When he was done, he looked at him expectantly. "What do you think?"

"I think it's a terrible idea," he said. "Thanksgiving's supposed to be a time for traditional food. Everybody wants turkey and ham and potatoes and pie. Don't try to mess it up with weird shit."

Kurt looked a little hurt. "I just wanted to try it," he said.

"Well, I guess," Puck said.

Somehow that ended up being _yes,_ and he agreed to stay out of their way.

"You're going to love it," Kurt promised.

Puck shook his head as he finished the eggs. "Doubt it."

* * *

><p>Puck left the house early on his way to Brad's, figuring if he only gave himself a half hour extra that he had an excuse not to stay too long at his old house. <em>My mom kicked me out,<em> he said, _but that doesn't mean she doesn't still need help._

Timothy met him at the door. He looked even more tired than the last time Puck had seen him. "Noah," he sighed.

He stepped through the door. "How bad is it, Meemee?"

Timothy ran his hand through his fluffy hair – Puck couldn't believe he'd let it get so long; he hadn't seen it in that Jewfro since Meemee was eight. "Bad," he said. "She's obnoxious, but worse than that, I can tell there's still something… off. Not right. I don't think her doctor knows what else to do, though. She won't go back to the hospital."

"Nobody's in charge of Ma." _Huh,_ he thought, then. _Maybe somebody should be. I bet she'd be a hell of a lot less of a bitch._ He sighed back. "I'm sorry you have to deal with it."

"It's actually good for me," Timothy said. "There's so much stuff we didn't get to talk about, back then, before I took off. Now we're talking about it, a little bit at a time."

"I'm glad to hear it," Puck said honestly. "I can't stay long – I'm on my way over to Brad's. He's the guy who did the piano and keyboard on the Hair number."

Timothy brightened. "Oh, hey, yeah? Is he planning to come with you, out to California? Gaga wants to get that scheduled, you know. I think we're looking at sometime in January. Don't you have an day off school for Martin Luther King Jr. Day?"

They looked at Sarah's school calendar and found that they did indeed have a long weekend in the middle of January. "How about this weekend?" he said, pointing. "You could miss a day or two of school, right?"

"You won't catch me complaining," Puck grinned. "Okay. Write it down, or I'll never remember. Better yet, tell Kurt. He'll probably engrave it on a plaque."

He steeled himself for a big conflict when he went into Ma's bedroom, but she was just sitting on her bed, going through her sock drawer. She stared at Puck with puzzled, combative eyes. "Hmm. What are you doing here?"

"Just stopped in to check on Sarah," he said. He sat at the end of the bed.

"She's fine."

"Kurt wants her to come over for Thanksgiving dinner."

Ma's mouth tightened at the mention of Kurt, but after a minute, she nodded. "Not likely we'll be cooking anything here, anyway. What, you're not making dinner?"

"They want to make it for me," Puck said. She stared at him.

"What kind of stupid-ass idea is that?" she said.

"I know, I know," he said, rolling his eyes. "I think Kurt thinks… well, I don't know _what_ he's thinking. But I'm trying to stay out of their way."

"Anybody who doesn't realize _you're_ the one to make Thanksgiving dinner doesn't deserve you," she declared, sounding so much like Sarah for a minute that Puck had to pause and catch his breath.

They both sat in silence for a little while. It didn't feel awful.

"How's school," she said eventually.

"The same," he said. "We've got Glee sectionals coming up next week."

"Good luck," she offered, and he nodded.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Fine," she snapped. He thought that might be all he was going to get out of her, and he rose to go, but then she reached out and took his arm.

"I'm sorry," she said. He stared at her. "For what I said about… you know."

"I know," he said softly. "I'm… thanks."

"They're not bad boys," she said. "I'm glad you're happy, for now anyway."

"I am," he said, even though things were complicated and he wasn't really sure about any of it, he wasn't going to get into that with his Ma when she was trying to apologize.

"I guess when you're sixteen, that's good enough," she said.

He had to go, then, because that was just about all he could tolerate, and he thought from the look on her face that she thought so, too.

* * *

><p>Puck was waiting in Mercedes' driveway when she got back from church. "I thought I was supposed to come to your house?" she said in surprise.<p>

"I was at my house, and I had to escape early," he said. "I can only deal with my Ma in small doses. Come on – I need to play my guitar, _now."_

Puck filled in Mercedes on Brad's family situation on the way over. "So – he's like you and Finn and Kurt, except with girls?" she asked.

"Seems like," he agreed. "Except they've been doing it for, like, years and years. And they have two kids; one is Laurie's and one is Andi's. Funny thing, neither of them look anything like Brad."

Brad welcomed them at the door, and they managed to get Mercedes back to his studio without being waylaid by kids or wives. Puck played through his song once for Mercedes.

"Dude, those are some tight harmonies," he said to Brad, with admiration. "You've made some improvements. I like it."

"And did I hear a third part in there, somewhere?" Brad said, smiling faintly. "You added one for you, didn't you?"

Puck had. It was subtle, not something anyone who didn't know the song well would have been able to tell – but _he_ knew it was there, and that's all that mattered.

"Here's the part I want you to sing," he said to Mercedes, and she listened attentively as Puck sang Kurt's descant once through, and then again while Brad sang the verses in counterpoint.

"It sounds kind of familiar," Mercedes mused, as she hummed through the descant part. "Did I hear it on the radio?"

"Mercedes, _I _wrote this," Puck said.

She stared blankly at him for a moment. "You?" She looked puzzled. "Where'd you get the lyrics?"

"I wrote those, too."

Another blank stare. "You're shitting me," she said at last.

"No, really. Will you sing it?"

"But… how'd you get them to fit together like that? I mean… it sounds so _professional."_

"I think it sounds kind of lame," he said. "But no more lame than Neil Diamond, I guess, and _he's_ got tons of records."

They sang it all through once, stopping a few times to discuss ways to make it hang together better, and then once again. "That sounds great," Brad said, with the biggest smile Puck had ever seen on his face. He felt fantastic. "You ready to record?"

"I think so," he said, and Mercedes nodded, grinning. Brad opened the closet behind the piano, revealing a series of digital and analog stereo components attached to a receiver, and several dozen amps. He took out a couple small monitors and set them up, along with headphones for each of them. They sang into big professional looking microphones, and Brad stopped them a few times along the way and had them start over, but by the end, he seemed satisfied.

"What's it for?" Mercedes asked, as Brad processed the tracks and mixed them down on his computer.

"For them," he said. "Your part, that's for Kurt. I wrote that first. Then I did the verses for Finn."

Her eyes got big, and she looked away for a moment. "What?" he said anxiously. "You think it's too sappy?"

"No," she said, with a shaky laugh. "I think it's _perfect._ I'm… totally jealous."

Puck wasn't sure what to do with that, so he just said, "What was the song you brought to share with me?"

Her face changed, to a sly smile. "Well. I just happened to be watching _Dreamgirls_ the other day, and this song… it struck me. I was thinking about Kurt, and you, and Finn… and then I thought about Mr. Schue, and the ballad assignment, and it just felt right." She propped some music up on the piano.

Brad chuckled. "I should have known. But my question is, who's singing to whom?"

"I don't know," Mercedes said. "I guess that's your deal, Puck. Why don't you listen and see what you think?"

youtube .com/watch?v=zd3mKqgiPWo

_And I am telling you, I'm not going  
><em>_You're the best man I'll ever know  
><em>_There's no way I can ever go_

_No, no, there's no way  
><em>_No, no, no, no way  
><em>_I'm living without you  
><em>_I'm not living without you  
><em>_I don't wanna be free_

_I'm staying, I'm staying  
><em>_And you, and you  
><em>_You're gonna love me  
><em>_Ooh, you're gonna love me…_

Puck was crying by the end, but he couldn't honestly tell her why. And there was no clear answer to who was singing to whom, so he just hugged her and whispered, "Thanks."

* * *

><p>MONDAY, NOV 22<p>

It was after Spanish that Puck heard them talking about it in the men's room. He was just wondering where Finn had gone – he'd scored an almost-new dorm fridge from the dumpster and wanted help wrestling it up the service elevator to the second floor, to have in their attic room – but he was caught by the conversation, so he stayed in the stall a little extra long and listened.

"Fight club," he heard the murmured voice. "In Cairo. They meet, you know, different days, different times, even different cities. To keep the secret."

"Why are you telling me, then?"

"Because, man, you'd totally dig it. You get to beat people up. But the first rule is…"

"I know, don't talk about Fight Club. Jeez, I saw the fucking movie."

"So you want to go? This month it's Thursday at ten, in the park behind the post office. There's a building there…"

And somehow Puck found himself practically _yearning_ to try this, for some reason – yeah, he'd liked the movie, and it sounded kind of sneaky to drive up to Cairo on a school night – especially that close to Sectionals. And then he thought Finn would never let him go, and then he thought, _fuck that. _

He figured he'd bring it up that night, but it slipped his mind.

* * *

><p>TUESDAY, NOV 23<p>

Monday they watched more of _Mr. Holland's Opus_ in Glee, and Puck didn't think much of it, but on Tuesday they watched the last part. He was trying to think of a way he could avoid being in the house at all on Thanksgiving, because he knew, he _knew_ it was going to be a fiasco of the highest order, and it would be physically painful for him to see what they did to the kitchen.

And then the song came on, and Puck was… caught.

_youtube. com/watch?v=-u4rNY4f5tE _

_There's a somebody I'm longing to see  
><em>_I hope that he turns out to be  
><em>_Someone to watch over me_

_I'm a little lamb who's lost in a wood  
><em>_I know I could always be good  
><em>_To one who'll watch over me_

Puck sat up straight in his chair for the rest of the scene, watching the girl singing to her teacher, and he couldn't believe he'd never heard this song before, because holy _hell_, it was just perfect.

"Mercedes," he hissed, poking her. She turned around, dislodging Kurt.

"What?" she whispered back.

"This song. Who wrote it?"

"George Gershwin," Kurt said, with more than a little disdain for the question.

"We have to sing it," he said. "For the ballad. This is mine."

She blinked and stared at Kurt, who was suddenly turning red. "Why?" she asked.

"Trust me. It's me all over."

* * *

><p>WEDNESDAY, NOV 24 - Denver, CO<p>

Will closed the oven again with a sigh. "Turkey's almost done. For real this time."

"Darlin', you said that three times already," Toby said, leaning in the doorway, shaking his head. "How do you know?"

"The little popping thing hasn't popped up yet," he said, making a gesture. "It's supposed to, you know. Pop."

Toby's slow smile crept over his face like a mist across the morning. "Well, maybe it's got a defective popper. Maybe it ain't never gonna pop."

"I think we should give it a little more time," Will said, his mouth tightening. He knew he was being stubborn, but he wasn't willing to give up yet. "Just a few more minutes. I think your oven might be low."

"It ain't _low,_ Will." Toby crossed his arms. "That bird's going to be dryer than a duck's back. Just take it out now."

"I'm telling you," Will said, a little too loudly. Then he stopped and dropped his hands. "I'm sorry. That wasn't necessary."

Toby walked to him immediately, and his hands around Will's biceps felt like the strongest support. "Darlin'. You never have to apologize to _me_ for gettin' your dander up. You know me better than that. All those years with –"

"Don't," he said, low, and Toby stopped.

"Will," Toby began.

"I don't want to talk about her," Will cut him off. He leaned in, feeling Toby's warmth, his familiar slim frame, and sighed into it. "Tell me about your audition."

"Piece of cake," Toby murmured, taking Will's hand and leading him around the kitchen. He bowed, eyebrows raised, and held out his arms. Will smiled, bowing back, and stepped into them, formal dance style. "I've done the show before."

"I remember," Will said. "I was there. That was a long time ago." He thought, and blinked. "Holy shit. Fourteen years ago."

Toby twirled Will, then let Will twirl him in return. "Well, I'm older and wiser. And a little more butch, I think." At Will's derisive laugh, he protested, "I said _a little. _Anyway. I know this director, and I'm a shoe-in for Don Lockwood." He began to sing, in his light, gentle voice:

youtube .com/watch?v=x5-w4yoGqG0

_Life was a song  
><em>_You came along  
><em>_I've laid awake  
><em>_The whole night through_

_If I but dared  
><em>_To think you cared  
><em>_This is what I'd say to you_

_You were meant for me  
><em>_And I was meant for you..._

"I'd love to come see you perform, once school's out," Will offered. Toby's smile was the sweetest, most perfect balm to his hurting heart.

"Come for Christmas," he urged. "Will, it would be the first time since college that we were together at Christmas. I want you to be here, with me."

Will gazed into Toby's eyes. _What if I were here – all the time?_ he wanted to say. _What if this – were home?_

"I'd love that," he said instead. "Really. I'd love it."

Toby leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his mouth. "Will."

"Yeah?"

"Check the turkey, okay?"

It still hadn't popped. Will unwrapped the bird just far enough to cut into it, and the juices flowed freely, pooling in the pan below. He frowned. "I can't tell if it's done yet or not."

"It looks done. It's not pink inside, is it? Well, then, it's done."

Will shot him a worried glance. "But how can you be sure?"

"You can't," Toby said patiently, putting an arm around his waist. He leaned his head against Will's. "All you can do is give it your best guess. It's not a perfect science, darlin'. There's intuition here too. You have to trust yourself."

"I'm not so good at that," Will admitted.

"I know." Toby gave him a little push. "That's my job. I'll pour the wine. Let's eat."

* * *

><p>THURSDAY, NOV 25<p>

Puck had promised to stay away. He'd promised to let Kurt and Burt and Carole and Finn do the cooking, and he would just show up at the end to eat it. He should have just turned right around and walked back out, but – it was too much for him to bear. He _had_ to see how bad it was.

It was _bad._

He shooed them all out of the kitchen as quickly as he could, ignoring their protests, which weren't very strong to begin with. "Downstairs," he ordered. "Go eat olives and pickles and shut the hell up. I'm going to take care of this." Then he went back up to the kitchen, did a few of the worst of the dishes, dumped the awful mess into the trash, and surveyed the damage.

Out of his canvas sack, he took a spiral ham, precut and precooked – not the best option, by any means, but certainly the easiest and quickest – four sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes from the deli, a roll of oven-ready biscuits, a bag of gourmet bread crumbs, a smaller bag of chopped pecans, and a frozen apple pie. He put that in the oven right away; it'd be done baking by the time dinner began, and by the time they were done eating it'd be cool enough to eat. The smell of the apples baking would cover up the worst of the mistakes from earlier. He threw together a stovetop-style dressing, being liberal with the butter, and peeled and boiled the sweet potatoes. Those he'd serve plain, sliced, with brown sugar – they'd be tasty on their own. The rolls could bake alongside the pie, for the short time they needed.

No green bean casserole, and no turkey, but it would do, for their first Thanksgiving. Not bad, for forty minutes of prep _and_ cook. He sighed: he'd successfully rescued them from their dinner.

* * *

><p>Puck knew the secret to enjoying Thanksgiving was to eat lightly the first time around, and fill up on leftovers as the night went on. The only thing he had seconds on the first time were the rolls, because he knew they'd be gone, and he had a guilty fascination with the chewy biscuits that stemmed from his childhood, when it had been one of the only things on their table that tasted good. Everything else, he waited on.<p>

While Carole and Burt were clearing the table, Puck got out his guitar and sat on the couch, strumming "True Colors."

"I'm so sick of that song," Kurt groused, sinking too deep into the couch to get an adequate breath. "I'm beginning to regret giving it to Brad to begin with."

"I think it's perfect," Finn said loyally. "There's nothing wrong with it. Let's sing."

They modified as they went through it, filling in the missing parts, and made it their own. Carole and Burt stopped cleaning up, and Sarah came to sit right next to him, listening to all of them singing together.

"Wow," Carole breathed. "The three of you together… this has got to be a family tradition from now on, guys."

It made Puck's throat catch to be called _family_ like that, but he just nodded and said, "Any requests?"

* * *

><p>FRIDAY, NOV 26<p>

They finished _The Ethical Slut_ that weekend, the three of them on Kurt's green couch. The book had come to an end sooner than they'd expected, and Puck had to ask Finn if he was sure there weren't more pages left. "I guess we'll have to get another book from Laurie," Kurt said. "She said she has lots more about polyamory. We can pick one up when we go for dinner tomorrow night."

"Well, I thought it was great," Finn said, adjusting slightly on his arm of the couch to make room for Kurt as he put down the book and snuggled up with him. "I loved all the stuff she said about honesty. And she seems pretty enlightened, for a grown-up. I mean, I saw her picture – she's, like, _old._ I wonder if it gets easier."

"I bet it doesn't," Kurt said. He poked Puck with a toe. "Carole said you never feel any older than you do when you're sixteen. This is all we get."

Puck thought that was a terrifying idea, but he didn't want to be the only one to say so, so he kept it to himself.

"I wish I never had to go back to school," Sarah said, stretching out longer on the shorter arm of the couch. The jeans she'd bought that September were already at her ankles. "I just want to stay here and hang out with you guys."

"Sometimes you have to do things you don't want to do, squirt," said Puck. "Now what's up with that math homework you said you had?"

"Do I have to do it now?" she said, looking horrified.

He tugged on her too-short jeans. "Dude, get it done now and you'll feel so much better."

As she grumbled off to get her backpack, Kurt stared at Puck. "How is it you can do that so easily for Sarah, but you can't do it for _yourself?"_

"If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn't need you guys, would I?" Puck said easily.

But the question nagged at him.

* * *

><p>SUNDAY, NOV 28<p>

It was a lazy weekend, filled with the leftovers from Puck's emergency dinner. They played Monopoly with Sarah, and worked on their multicultural fair projects for American history, and Finn and Puck quizzed each other on Spanish vocabulary for, like, ever. Puck and Kurt put in a little extra time at the garage.

And somehow nobody really mentioned how awesome it was that Puck had come through with food. Again. _Funny, that._

So when Carole asked, "Got anything going on next week, boys?" and Finn and Kurt chattered about this or that, and it was on the tip of his tongue to mention the Fight Club in Cairo, he just closed his lips and smiled and said, "Nothing much."

_Because you don't talk about Fight Club, right?_

And that wasn't the reason, but it was convenient and Puck was willing to let himself believe that's why he did it. Because he _wasn't_ lying, right? If it was just a secret you didn't tell? And it wasn't at all that he just wanted to have something that was _all his,_ that nobody else knew about? Even if it was a stupid thing like this?

_Right._

* * *

><p>WEDNESDAY, DEC 1<p>

Kurt had never been so happy to see Mr. Schue as he was that afternoon. He gave him a big smile, and caught himself before he tried to hug him. "Welcome back," he said, setting down the box of music files he'd brought down from the attic.

"Thanks," Mr. Schue said, and his smile looked equally genuine. "I'm glad to be back. Even if I can't do much to help, I didn't want you guys to head off to Sectionals without at least saying good luck."

"We've been working hard," he said. "And we watched Mr. Holland's Opus while you were gone. Good movie."

"Well, I thought there might be a revolt if I asked you guys to do nothing but practice, the week before Thanksgiving," he said, grinning. He paused, then said with some reticence, "Hey… I have a favor to ask you. It's a little unorthodox, but hear me out, okay?"

Kurt felt a strange clenching in his gut. "Sure, Mr. Schue. What is it?"

Mr. Schue reached into his briefcase and pulled out a sheaf of music. "It's… something I wrote. While I was gone. It's something I've been working on for some time, and I just… well, I guess I was inspired to finish it." He shook his head. "Sometimes it takes a crisis to precipitate something like this. Anyway, I wrote a song." He glanced at Kurt, his face red. "I was wondering if you might be willing to sing it."

"Sing it?" Kurt echoed. He felt his own face flushing.

"Just for me," Mr. Schue added. "You don't have to sing it in front of anybody. It's just for me."

"Mr. Schue," Kurt said, biting his lip.

"I know, it's a little weird. But it would mean a lot to me. I can't even tell you." He held out the music. "You want to take a look?"

Despite himself, Kurt was drawn to pick up the music and read it over. It was a pretty standard ballad arrangement, in old-school Broadway style, three verses and a chorus. The lyrics were sweet. He thought he could hear the way it would go. "I'll give it a try," he said.

"Thanks," said Mr. Schue, sounding relieved. "You play, right? Why don't you try the accompaniment and I'll sing it through once, so you can hear it."

Kurt played the simple piano part with a sinking heart, as Mr. Schue sang:

_Dance with me,  
><em>_one more time,  
><em>_to a song that will never end.  
><em>_Take my hand  
><em>_as the last you'll hold,  
><em>_that of a lover and a friend._

_Talk with me,  
><em>_trust in me,  
><em>_your dreams of the future and the past...  
><em>_then dream of me,  
><em>_and dream of us,  
><em>_and a love that will always last._

_Walk with me  
><em>_until our legs grow weak  
><em>_and we collapse in each others' arms.  
><em>_Let me be your light  
><em>_in the hour of darkness  
><em>_to protect you from all harm._

_Talk with me,  
><em>_trust in me,  
><em>_your dreams of the future and past...  
><em>_then dream of me,  
><em>_and dream of us,  
><em>_and a love that will always last._

_Sleep with me  
><em>_in a bed of faith,  
><em>_fall asleep in arms that care...  
><em>_and whatever else  
><em>_you do in life,  
><em>_know that I am always there._

_Talk with me,  
><em>_trust in me,  
><em>_your dreams of the future and past...  
><em>_then dream of me,  
><em>_and dream of us,  
><em>_and a love that will always last._

"Mr. Schue, wait," Kurt said, and pushed back the piano bench. "I… I can't do this. I get it, the Mr. Holland's Opus thing, but… I don't feel that way about you."

"What?" Mr. Schue looked stunned. "Kurt, I…"

"No – I know, Mr. Schue, I respect you, _a lot,_ and you're good looking and everything, but I just don't – I can't do that." He shook his head. "I've got a boyfriend. Two, actually."

"Kurt, _no._ It's not like that." Mr. Schue was smiling now. He held out a pacifying hand, then let it drop. "Jesus. I'm sorry. I didn't mean… Kurt. This wasn't a come-on. This song was for… for someone else. I wanted you to sing it because… well."

Even through his mortification, Kurt understood. "_Oh._ Of course. You wrote it for _Toby."_

Mr. Schue's face turned white. "How – how do you…"

Kurt nodded. "It's because I sound like him, isn't it? That's why you wanted me to sing it?"

Mr. Schue sank down onto the piano bench. "I'm sorry, Kurt. I see now how… inappropriate this all was."

"No, no! It… it's okay, Mr. Schue." Mr. Schue looked fragile, like he might break if he said the wrong thing, and Kurt thought he got exactly how that felt. "I'm not offended. I'm kind of flattered."

"I'm not interested in you, Kurt," he insisted. "Really – I would _never…"_

"I understand." He sat down next to him and put a hand on his arm. Mr. Schue flinched away for a second, but he let it sit there. Then a long sigh escaped him, and he rested his head in his hands.

"How do you know… about Toby?" he asked, his voice low.

Kurt started with the conversation he'd overheard between him and Brad, weeks ago, when he was rehearsing the Hair number. Then he explained about being shoved into the locker – he glossed over the details, but Mr. Schue was clearly furious anyway – and his rescue by Sue Sylvester. When he mentioned the letter, Mr. Schue grew still and pale again.

"That's where it went," he murmured.

"And then Noah read it," he said, and Mr. Schue's face went bright red.

"Noah – _Puck_ read it? How-?"

"I'm sorry," Kurt said, sighing. "Noah can be a little impulsive. He took it from my bag. I gave the letter to Brad for safe keeping. But nobody else read it, not me or Finn or anybody, and Noah's not going to tell anybody. We made sure of that." He looked meaningfully at Mr. Schue. "You should never take away someone's right to tell their own story. I figured if you wanted to tell anybody, it would be your decision."

"I… god." Mr. Schue looked a little dazed. "But Sue…" He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I should have known she'd figure it out eventually. I shouldn't have kept that letter at school."

"It's a long time to keep a secret, Mr. Schue," Kurt said softly. "It can weigh on a person. I thought… actually, _Noah_ thought, that you might need somebody to talk to. I know I could use one, too. We could."

Mr. Schue blinked, and gazed at Kurt with new eyes. "Kurt, you and… Puck?"

"Yes," he said, feeling calm inside in a way he'd never expected. "Me, and Noah… and Finn. We're together. Like Brad and Laurie and Andi."

Mr. Schue dropped a hand to the bench to steady himself. "He told you about that?" he said in an incredulous voice.

"He said he'd figured it out weeks ago, about us," he nodded. "So he told us about him and his family. He's been a great friend to us. That's how I saw you and Toby together, in a picture at his house, when I went over for piano lessons. And Duncan said… I sound like him. He said I sound like Uncle Toby."

"You do," Mr. Schue said faintly. "I mean, in a way. It's more your… style. I've always been struck by how much you…" He glanced at the music on the piano. "You remind me of how he was, when we were kids." Then he looked back at Kurt in surprise. "You and _Finn…_ and _Puck?"_

"It's a long story," said Kurt. "Really. It would take days to tell the whole thing. But I wanted you to know. It's been hard to keep it a secret, and… certain people in the school, they know too. Dave Karofsky, for one."

Will's face grew hard. "That locker incident… we are going to take care of that, Kurt. I'm not going to let that stand."

"It hasn't been bad, lately," he said. "I had… a bad couple days. But recently he's been leaving me alone. I think he doesn't know any way to use this information against me, so he's just biding his time. But… I thought it would be a good idea if someone, a teacher, knew about us, so we'd have someone on our side if something did happen. Our parents, they all know about us."

"Really? Your dad, he's… okay, with the three of you…?" Mr. Schue still seemed like he was having trouble coming to terms with this, which was odd, considering how close he and Brad clearly were. But eventually he nodded and relaxed his shoulders. "Okay. Kurt, I'm really sorry about all this mix-up about the song. I hope you understand what it was about now."

"I do," Kurt insisted. "It's okay. And I'm happy to sing it for you, really."

"No, I think… I think you'd better not." Mr. Schue gathered up the music and tucked it back into his briefcase. "I think I'm the only one who gets to sing that song, and only to one person."

"Maybe he'd sing it for you, someday," Kurt suggested.

"Maybe," Mr. Schue said. "Someday." He held out a hand, and Kurt, blinking, shook it. "Thank you, Kurt, for trusting me enough to tell me about your… boyfriends. I won't betray that trust."

"And we won't betray yours," he said. "I hope I get to meet Toby someday."

"You'd love him," Mr. Schue said, smiling. "And he'd definitely love you."

* * *

><p>THURSDAY, DEC 2<p>

Rachel realized later that if she hadn't overheard Puck and Quinn talking outside the home economics room that morning that Sectionals would have been a very different experience for them. But in that moment, she wasn't trying to spy on _anybody. _She blamed it on her sixth sense, the desire to hear what was happening driven by a need to _help._ That, and a healthy curiosity, was what led her to stop and listen in the hallway.

"Don't you think he deserves to know the truth?" That was Quinn.

"He knows enough." Puck. "I don't think he really wants to know, anyway. We've talked about it so many times."

"So, what, you're just going to… bring her home? Don't you think he's going to have a question or two when you start setting up the nursery?"

_Nursery? Why is Puck going to have a… oh, God._

"Honestly?" His voice was bitter. "I don't think he'll even notice. He's pretty clueless half the time."

Quinn gave a short laugh. "I can't disagree with that." Now her voice was cajoling. "I bet we could set up a house, together. You and me. I'd be better for you than he is anyway."

"Don't even try to compare yourself with him, Q." Puck sounded tired. "But I'll think about it."

Rachel didn't think about all the ramifications of who _he_ might be. Her mind was whirling. _Puck – was the father? Quinn's baby is his?_ She almost let out a little squeak, but she managed to escape down the hallway before she gave away the game.

_I need proof. And I think I know just how to get it._

She caught up to Quinn at her locker later. "Hey. I know it's not my place, but have you had your doctor run the full genetic test panel on your unborn child? I only ask because my cousin, Leon, and his wife got pregnant, and then they found out that he was a carrier for Tay-Sachs."

Quinn looked blank. "What's that?"

"It's a genetic disorder, pretty terrible from what I understand. If one of the parents is a carrier, then there's, like, a 50% chance that the child has it or something like that."

Quinn leaned back on her locker, looking stunned. "My doctor never mentioned that."

"You know… I'm such an idiot," Rachel said, shaking her head. "They would only run the test if one of the parents was Jewish. Yeah, only Jews carry the gene."

"Oh."

Rachel smiled brightly. "Okay, I'll see you in rehearsal."

It was later in the choir room that Rachel overheard them talking again. "You have to take me to go get those Jewish baby tests," Quinn hissed.

Puck looked unconvinced. "Why? Is that even a real thing?"

"Because, if something is wrong with the baby, don't you think we should know about it?"

Puck's voice got lower. "Does this have to happen tonight? Because I have my fight club."

The conversation didn't go any further than that, but Rachel was satisfied. She knew what was really going on. _Now… how to tell Finn. It would break his heart, but he needed to know._

* * *

><p>It was only a fifteen minute drive up highway 65 to Cairo, but Puck didn't want to be late. He wasn't exactly sure what to expect. He left his letterman jacket at home, and stuck with basic black jeans and a black t-shirt, and his leather bomber. It was snowing lightly when he pulled into the parking lot across from the dark post office. He didn't see any lights anywhere.<p>

His feet made prints in the snow as he walked across the grass to the park on the other side of the street. It was the edge of the tiny town, and nothing much was around besides a pavilion and a stand of trees. Puck thought he could see light behind the door, but it was faint.

A man met him at the entranceway. "What do you want?" he said, looking him up and down.

"I'm not supposed to say," he said. "Don't talk about it, right?"

The man hesitated, then let him in. "Watch yourself, kid," he muttered. "These guys can be harsh."

Puck couldn't exactly say that it was just what he wanted, but it was with mounting tension that his eyes met the sight before him. The crowd was all men, and their attention was on two guys in the middle of the ring. One was tall, with blonde, short-cropped hair, and the other darker and smaller. But after a few minutes, Puck decided he would put his money on the smaller guy. He was quick, and when he landed a punch, it made a smacking noise that was oddly satisfying. The tall man made a noise of protest, but he didn't pull away. Both their faces and their knuckles were bleeding. It mixed with the sawdust on the floor of the dim pavilion, and made a pungent coppery smell.

The smaller guy pulled off his shirt and ditched it in the corner, and Puck made a noise between clenched teeth. The man next to Puck glanced down at him and smiled. "First time?"

"Yeah," he said, not taking his eyes off the spectacle in front of him. There was a whoop as the taller man went for the smaller guy, but he ducked away and landed a punch to the man's kidneys. He went down, writhing, and somebody else took his place, just like that.

Puck couldn't have said how long it went on, but he was already breathing hard and his jacket was off and he was saying, "My turn," when the next guy went down. He wanted to get his hands on the small guy, and he thought he knew what to do about that.

He stared him down. The smaller guy was tiring, but he nodded at him, sizing him up, and took an experimental jab at his face. He moved away in plenty of time, but he didn't hit back, not yet. Somebody cheered, and the crowd moved in closer. It was warm in the pavilion, now, and he was taking giant breaths, feeling high on the group of men staring at him and the smell of blood and testosterone.

Then the guy was on him, and he was hitting him, and there was a pain in his side but it was _good,_ it was the _best_ kind of pain, the kind of pain he'd been wanting to feel for weeks but nobody was giving it to him, nobody was offering it. He needed to feel it. He needed to feel this guy's hands on him, giving it to him.

The pain was brief, and so was his turn in the ring, as somebody else nudged him out of the way. Someone else was offering a towel, but he shrugged it off, reveling in the sensation of sweat on his body. He was nameless and faceless and he _loved_ it.

He licked his lips and followed the crowd out the door when they left, but he hovered outside the pavilion for a few minutes, not wanting it to end. The man who'd smiled at him at the beginning paused next to him.

"You're looking for more," he said softly, and Puck shivered.

"Maybe," he said.

He followed the man out in the blowing snow, past the pavilion to the cinder block park bathrooms. It wasn't any warmer inside, but Puck was carrying his own heat, and it wasn't until the man reached a hand between Puck's legs that he realized he was rock hard. He let out an involuntary moan.

"Nice," the man said. "You're a real firecracker. Let's see what you've got for me."

Puck didn't hesitate to unzip his jeans when the man dropped to his knees in front of him, wearing a hungry expression with which Puck was intimately familiar. Except he hadn't seen it on anybody else's face before, not for _him_ - except once, in the club in Dayton, on the face of that boy with the curly hair. It was the face he knew he wore when he was on his knees for Kurt and Finn. He knew just how it felt to want that.

He didn't trust his own voice not to say something that would freak the man out, because the images running through his mind were anything but sane. He just leaned back onto the cold cinder block wall and let the man take his cock into his mouth. He wasn't very good at it, but that didn't matter to Puck right now. After that intense blast of adrenaline, he just wanted to keep feeling _something._

The man let him come into his mouth, and when he was done, he didn't ask for reciprocation. Puck thought maybe he'd already come in his pants, from the look on his face. "You do more?" the man asked, but Puck shook his head. He smiled again and left Puck there alone, in the freezing bathroom in the park.

Puck found himself back in his truck, shivering, feeling rather like he had that day that Dr. Howell had called him _it,_ but knowing he would never have a leg to stand on if he called Kurt now. So he just waited until the truck warmed up, and then he drove slowly home, obeying all the traffic lights and speed limits. He pulled the truck into Kurt's driveway. The house was dark. The clock said 11:55.

When he came in, Kurt was already sleeping in his own room, and Puck didn't wake him up. He slunk into the bathroom and turned the water on hot, and stood under the shower until he felt warm again. Then he dried off and slipped into the guest room bed, trying to relax, but the images behind his eyes were vivid and compelling and appalling. He thought for a moment that he might throw up, but it passed.

Eventually he slept.

* * *

><p>FRIDAY, DEC 3<p>

Mr. Schue and Miss Pillsbury came into Glee, all smiles. "Hey, guys? Let's gather around. I've found my replacement. Give it up for Miss Pillsbury."

Santana gave her a skeptical look. "Do you even know anything about music?"

"Well…" Mr. Schue waved that off. "What's important is that she cares about you guys every bit as much as I do. Now… I don't know what the future holds for me, and for us, but I know, Saturday, you're going to make me proud. You guys are going to be great." He gave them one more regretful smile. "So… Good-bye for now."

"Wait," said Mercedes, startled. "What about our set list?"

Mr. Schue shook his head. "I… I can't help you with that. You've got to figure that out for yourselves." He gave them a gentle victory fist on his way out the door.

Artie looked around at all of them. "Well, we have to do Proud Mary in wheelchairs. That's in."

Finn nodded. "And Don't Stop Believing, for sure."

Tina looked disappointed, but she nodded agreement. "What about the ballad?

"I would be thrilled to contribute a ballad from my repertoire," Rachel announced.

"Okay, you know what, Miss Bossy Pants?" said Mercedes, coming down from the risers. "Enough. I've worked just as hard as you, and I'm just as good as you. You know, you always end up stealing the spotlight."

Rachel gave her a withering look. "Mercedes, do you honestly think you're as strong of a balladeer as I am?" She turned to Miss Pillsbury. "Ballads are kind of my thing."

Miss Pillsbury smiled brightly. "Okay, um, Rachel? Why don't you let Mercedes give it a try?"

Mercedes smiled back. "Thanks, Mrs. P." She turned to Brad, waiting at the piano. "Do I even need to tell you what song?" Brad shook his head with a wry grin.

Puck felt himself folding back into himself at the force of Mercedes' voice, the impact of her words. He'd told Kurt and Finn about the song she'd sung for him at Brad's, and knew they recognized it from his description. There was no way it could have been anything else. The whole of Glee club could feel the import of her words. He wasn't sure if they'd ever know who was singing the words to whom. He wasn't sure, himself. He just knew he felt… awful.

After the song was over, and Rachel came down to hug Mercedes, Puck slunk away before anybody could catch him. He didn't think he could face Finn or Kurt, or anyone right now.

* * *

><p>"That was pretty cool in there," said Finn, walking with Rachel to his locker. "I… I know that must have been hard for you."<p>

Rachel flushed, smiling. "It was the right thing to do. I… I wanted to bring the team together."

"Yeah." He gave her a thoughtful look as he put his backpack away. "You know, I got to be honest. I'm kind of pumped about sectionals. This has been a hard couple of months with Quinn and the baby and… everything. I don't know. I really think that… Winning could make everything _good_ for a while. You know? Is that stupid?"

"It's not stupid at all," she said softly.

He paused. "Is something up with you?"

Rachel hesitated, searching his face. "I want you to be happy, Finn."

"I am," he insisted. "You have no idea, really."

Rachel ignored him. "And when you care about someone, you can't sit around and watch them suffer when you know you can do something about it."

"What are you talking about?" he said, shaking his head.

She took a deep breath. "I have to tell you something. I overheard Puck and Quinn talking… about the baby. Finn… it's not your baby."

He looked away, almost as though he were hiding a smile. "What do you mean?"

"Puck was talking about setting up the nursery. He's the father."

Finn's face froze. "What?" he said. Now he sounded angry. "What – where did you hear that?"

"I told you, it was the two of them, talking. Quinn said she would raise the baby with him, but he said he wasn't sure. He sounded like he was wanting to do it on his own. It's crazy, I know, but…"

"No," said Finn, staring down the hall. "No, I know crazy. That's not crazy. It's just _stupid._ That lying son of a…" He flinched away from his own words. "I told him what would happen if he… if he…"

"Finn?" Rachel said, with a stab of fear. "You're scaring me."

"You're not the one who should be scared," he spat out, and tore down the hall toward the choir room.

"Finn – Finn, wait!" Rachel took off after him, but she knew she'd never catch him in time. _What have I done?_

* * *

><p>Puck knew what was coming, even before he heard Finn's voice say, "<em>Puck."<em> It was the Voice, and it promised exactly what he deserved. He knew it. He didn't even try to get away. He just closed his eyes and let the blows rain down, grunting at each impact.

"Finn," he heard Kurt cry, but Puck didn't try to see him. He didn't want to be seen. He wanted to be part of the nameless, faceless crowd. He wanted to hit, and be hit. He wanted to be the furniture, the property. It was the only thing he wanted.

And then Mr. Schue was there, shouting, "Hey, come on, get off him! Knock it off!" He pulled Finn's squirming, writhing body off him, and Puck just wanted to protest, to say _Don't stop – come back._ He just wanted to feel Finn touching him.

Finn's face was red and blotchy, and Puck could see the tears on his cheeks. "Tell the truth!" he screamed. Everyone stared at Puck, and he cringed under their regard.

_Don't see me,_ he begged in his head. "Punk just walked in and sucker punched me," he stammered.

Finn struggled to get out of Matt's and Mr. Schue's restraining grasp. "Don't play dumb – you're too freaking dumb to play dumb!"

"Who told you this, Finn?" protested Quinn.

Kurt looked as shocked as Puck had ever seen him, and Puck flinched away from it. "Obviously, it was Rachel," he said.

Rachel avoided their eyes. "What? I didn't do anything." Puck almost felt sorry for her. He knew exactly how she felt, to be caught in a lie that was impossible, but to struggle through, anyway, acting as though nothing was wrong. Nothing was wrong. Even now, he thought, _maybe, maybe, if I said the right thing… maybe I could make it okay. _

Finn's gaze was stony. "Yeah, it was Rachel, but I want to hear it from you. I want to hear it from both of you."

"Finn, just calm down," Mr. Schue said, putting up a hand, but Finn lost it again. Puck hadn't seen him this angry since… since that day in the hallway, weeks ago, when Finn had last hit him. _He hasn't hit me in anger since then. Not in anger. Not like this._

He hadn't been frightened of him since then, either, but the look in Finn's eyes now was absolutely terrifying. Not because he was afraid of what Finn could do to him – no. He welcomed that. He _wanted_ it. It was because of what Finn was showing him. The love, the acceptance, the _belonging_ – it was gone. Now, it was just betrayal.

"No!" Finn shouted. "They're both _lying_ to me!" He looked directly at Puck, and spoke, his voice almost conversational. "Is it true? Just tell me… is it true?"

Quinn stepped in front of Puck, putting her body between himself and Finn's glare. Her face was suffused with tears. "Yes," she whispered. "Puck's going to be her father."

Finn turned his perplexed expression on Puck. "So… all that stuff in the hot tub… you just _made that up?"_

Puck felt a sudden rush of rage of his own, but he had no idea to whom it was directed. "You were stupid enough to buy it." _Anybody who's stupid enough to want me gets what they deserve._

Finn's face contorted and he started for Puck again, but Mr. Schue headed him off. _No,_ he wanted to cry. _Don't stop him. He needs to touch me. It's the only way we're going to get through this – please._ But he could do nothing but stand there, arms by his side, glaring at Finn, willing him to _please, fix this._

Quinn was sobbing now. "Finn… I am so sorry."

"Screw this," Finn muttered. He looked up, and the expression on his face was like dust.

"I'm done with you," he said to Puck. "I'm done with _all_ of you."

He backed away, kicking over a chair as he went, and the only sound in the room was Quinn, crying. Puck wished he could comfort her, but there was nothing left inside him, except the dust of Finn's abandonment, and his own shame.

* * *

><p>"I'm so sorry," Quinn heard, and she looked up to see Rachel standing there. "I fully understand if you want to beat me up. If you can, just try to avoid my nose." She closed her eyes and waited.<p>

Quinn smiled, despite herself. "I'm not mad at you," she said. "All you did was what I wasn't brave enough to do: tell the truth. I held onto it for too long, and when they finally found out… it was too late anyway."

Rachel seated herself on the bench beside Quinn, watching her sadly. "I was selfish when I told him. I wanted to break you two up, so he would want to be with me."

"And now none of us have him… and we never will. Not you, not me, not Puck. And it's my fault."

"Puck?" Rachel said, startled, but Quinn shook her head.

"I've hurt so many people." She looked at Rachel. "Can you go now? I just really want to be alone."

It was short-lived. Puck joined her on the bench, looking like a whipped dog.

She turned to him. "So… I know you're upset now," she said, pleading, "but I want to be with you. I'm going to do everything I can to be a good mom to our baby."

Puck sighed. "Thanks." He took a hollow breath. "But I honestly can't handle any more stress in my life right now. I'm going to do this on my own. I know you don't understand it, but please respect it."

Quinn felt like he'd struck her. She couldn't do anything but sit back and watch him walk away.

_Tear down the mountains  
><em>_Yell, scream and shout  
><em>_You can say what you want  
><em>_I'm not walking out_

_Stop all the rivers  
><em>_Push, strike and kill  
><em>_I'm not gonna leave you  
><em>_There's no way I will_

_And I am telling you I'm not going  
><em>_You're the best man I'll ever know  
><em>_There's no way I can ever go_

_No, there's no way  
><em>_I'm living without you  
><em>_I don't wanna be free_

_I'm staying, I'm staying  
><em>_And you –  
><em>_You're gonna love me_


	20. Chapter 20

"Burt." He looked up to see Carole, standing in the doorway to Hummel Tires and Lube, her face a mask of concern. "We have a problem."

"What's going on? Is Kurt okay?"

"I don't know. It's Finn. And Puck." She moved in, letting the door swing closed behind her.

He sighed and glanced around the waiting area; only two more customers, and he could close up for the night. It wasn't going to hurt business any if he locked the door now. Burt let his hand ghost over Carole's shoulder as he turned the key in the door. "Tell me."

"They had a fight. An actual one, with punching and screaming. Finn won't tell me any more than that, and I haven't seen Puck yet. I'm guessing he's gone to your house. I was hoping Kurt might be able to tell us what happened."

Carole shook her head, pinching her eyes closed. "This is exactly what I was afraid of. Teenage boys - we can't expect them to stay in relationships at this age. How can we bring Sarah into a mess like this, Burt?"

"Carole," he said gently, "the mess she's in is a hell of a lot worse. She can deal with a little big brother angst. Don't you think this will blow over? Puck and Finn, they've been friends a long time."

She had the same expression on her face that Finn had when he got worried. "I don't know. I haven't seen him like this in a long time. Maybe... maybe not ever."

"Okay. Okay." He took her in his arms and hugged her, not making it about them, but about two parents caring about their kids. Her hair was soft on his cheek. "I'm going to finish up here, and then we can talk to Kurt. Maybe he can shed some light on things."

When they got to the house, Kurt was sitting on the steps halfway down to the basement, holding a handkerchief in his hand. He looked up with red eyes when Carole and Burt came in. They sat on either side of him on the staircase.

"I heard there was a fight," Burt said, and Kurt nodded, sniffling.

"Where's Puck?" Carole asked.

"He won't come out of the guest room. He made dinner and he didn't - he wouldn't say more than two words to me the whole time." He dabbed carefully at his eyes. "I'm feeling a little superfluous."

Carole glanced at Burt. "Don't look at me," he said, holding up his hands. "I don't even know what that means."

"Honey, Puck will come to you when he's ready." Carole's arm slipped around Kurt's shoulders. "It doesn't mean anything about you. He's upset, and dealing with things in his own way."

But Kurt shook his head. "I wish that were true. I realized I wasn't very nice to him about the whole Thanksgiving dinner. He gave me the chance to pull it together, and when it bombed, he didn't say I told you so, he just... fixed it. And I didn't appreciate it the way I might have." He blew his nose and stared at his feet, looking morose.

"I doubt this has anything to do with you, Kurt," said Carole.

"No, it does. He came to me about the baby. And I said I would help fix things, and I didn't. I got caught up in my own stupid drama about the boy at the bar... and I don't _care_ anything about him, I _don't..._ I just want things to be b-better." Kurt buried his miserable face in Burt's shoulder and burst into tears.

"The baby?" Carole asked, over Kurt's shaking back. "Quinn's baby?"

"Puck's baby, now," said Burt grimly, and Carole's eyes widened in alarm. "Yeah. I'll tell you what I know."

* * *

><p>Finn sat on his bed, mindlessly playing the same video game he'd already beaten four times. It was about all his brain could handle at the moment. His phone rang and he didn't answer it. <em>Six unanswered calls,<em> it registered, and Finn ignored it.

He ignored the soft knock that came about fifteen minutes later, too, but he hadn't locked his door, and he didn't bother to get up and lock it now. Kurt stepped inside, smoothly closing it again behind him, watching Finn with silent wariness.

"I brought you some dinner," he said. "It's downstairs."

"I'm not hungry."

"I understand," he said, nodding. "I... I couldn't eat one bite, myself. Finn..."

"Just... don't." He set the controller down and propped his arms on his knees, his head between his shoulders. "It wasn't what I wanted to do."

"You lost your temper. People do that."

Finn shook his head. "No. Not people like me. We're not supposed to, ever. We're not _allowed_ to. I can't... I can't _do_ what we do, to ask for the kind of trust you put in me, and then _be_ like this."

"Then you're asking yourself to be superhuman, Finn." Kurt sat on the end of the bed and put a hand on Finn's leg. When he didn't pull away, Kurt touched his hand. "Nobody expects that."

"I do. I expect it of myself." He wouldn't look at Kurt. "I keep thinking of that time when we were doing homework at your house and Puck came over, and he was twitchy, and you got annoyed with him."

"I did," Kurt agreed. "I messed up. I'm not perfect either."

"Yeah, and _I _took you to task for it," Finn shot back. "This is a hell of a lot worse, Kurt. I'm... I think I really hurt him."

"Maybe."

Now Finn did look at Kurt. His blue eyes were troubled. "Maybe?" protested Finn. "How can you sit there and say that? You love him. How can you even be in the same _room_ as me?"

"You love him, too," Kurt said softly. Carefully, he moved in between Finn's legs, settling in against his chest. Finn felt himself quaking inside with the effort to keep it together. He took Kurt's body in his arms and held on tight. "You do."

"Yeah," he whispered. "I do."

"He needs to hear that."

"I'm... not ready to tell him." The anger was still there, hot and tempting, and when he thought about what Puck had done - he heard a noise come up from inside him, like a growl. "He hurt me, too. He lied to me. He lied to all of us."

Kurt's body rose and fell with his sigh. When he didn't respond, Finn pulled away and looked at him with astonishment.

"You _knew?"_ he shouted.

"Not - all of it," Kurt said. "I didn't know about the paperwork. I didn't know about the lawyer. But he told my dad. He... he did it all behind our backs, Finn."

"And you expect me to just start _trusting_ him again, after that?" His voice was rising, and Kurt tried to put a hand on his chest, to calm him, but he jerked away. "What kind of a sucker _are_ you?"

"You're not angry at _me,_ Finn," Kurt snapped back. "Don't yell at me. I don't deserve it either."

"I can't... I can't talk about this right now." He held out his hands, pushing Kurt away. "Just leave me alone. _Please._ I'm not ready."

"Okay." Kurt rose and opened the door. "I'm going to head home. Just - eat something, will you? And get some sleep. We need you at Sectionals tomorrow."

_I won't be there,_ Finn thought stonily as Kurt closed the door behind him. _You'll have to do it without me._

* * *

><p>Kurt slid into the folding seat next to Puck as the lights went down. His leg brushed against Puck's in the dark, and he reached out for his hand. Puck waited a few seconds before taking it. He knew his hand, like his performance during rehearsal, was limp. He just couldn't muster any kind of enthusiasm for anything right now, even for Kurt.<p>

"Sweetheart," Kurt murmured, and Puck flinched away. Kurt sighed, shuffling his feet.

He'd spent the night at Kurt's, but he'd closed the door to the guest room right after dinner and hadn't come out after that. Last night had been nothing but a series of nightmares, followed by two unfortunate hours lying awake in the dark, coupled with trips to the bathroom to throw up. Needless to say, he wasn't feeling his best, but at least he was _here._.. which was more than he could say for _some_ people. He didn't say anything about who, or why. He didn't want to think about it.

And then the Jane Addams Academy girls came on, and all thoughts flew out of his head, because they were performing _their songs. _

"What the hell?" Mike said, a little too loud, and one of the audience members shushed him.

Puck glanced up at Kurt, whose face was white. "This has got to be a mistake," he said, sounding panicked. "They've got to stop this."

Puck didn't say anything. He just sat back and waited for the situation to get worse. _No set list, no director. No leader. We're fucked._

* * *

><p>Will was humming the song he'd written for Toby when Emma called, frantic. "They're doing all of our numbers," she said. "The kids are completely freaking out. Will, these kids <em>need <em>a leader right now."

"Just hold tight," Will said, his lips a firm line. "I know what to do."

He was about to make a second call when he caught sight of a figure striding down the hallway. Will stormed after her, letting his voice ring off the tile. _"Sue!"_

She halted, then turned to face him. He drew up in front of her. "What kind of teacher are you?" he snapped.

Sue was all innocence. "Hey, buddy! I just came by to feed my Venus Flytrap."

"You leaked the set list." He thrust a finger at her face. "And you are _not _going to get away with it. You have crossed the line. I am not going to sit idly by anymore."

"Bring it on, William," she sneered. "I'm reasonably confident that you will be adding revenge to the long list of things you're no good at. Right next to being married…"

"Don't," he said quietly.

"Running a high school glee club..." Sue's smile was vicious. "And being straight. Can't say I'm surprised; that hairstyle makes you look like a lesbian. But it seems your _boyfriend_ doesn't think much of girls, does he? Not from what he was allegedly writing about in an alleged steamy love letter." She touched two fingers to her lips, then to his. "At least you're getting nookie from _someone,_ even if it's not your wife."

He pushed her away in uneasy disgust. "Get your hands off me."

She eyed him before moving away down the hall. "Sorry, too feminine for you? Or maybe not feminine enough. _Toby_ sounds like he might lean a little toward the girly side of things."

Will clenched his fists and told himself not to get riled up. _Right now, you have to think of your kids. You have to help them find their leader. _

The school directory gave him Finn's home number, but it was Finn's mom who picked up. "Hello?"

"Mrs. Hudson," he said. "It's Will Schuester. I'm sorry to bother you at home. Is Finn there?"

"He went back to school to clean out his football locker. I think he was trying to find an excuse to leave the house."

Will gazed at the blown-up picture of Glee they'd had taken for the Thunderclap, tacked on the bulletin board above his desk. Finn and Kurt stood on opposite sides of the group, but Puck and Finn were right next to one another, one of Finn's arms thrown casually around Puck's shoulders... and the other around Quinn. He sighed. _What a mess. _ "You know about what happened on Friday?"

"Yes," she said, and hesitated. "I'm not sure how much you know."

"I know about the boys' relationship," he said, trying out the sound of the words, hoping he wasn't saying anything she didn't already know. _Kurt had said their parents knew, but who knows what that actually meant?_

"Really?" Mrs. Hudson sounded surprised. "Finn didn't... well. I'm glad you know. It's been hard for them, keeping it a secret."

"I'm sure of that," Will said wryly. "Mrs. Hudson, the Glee club needs Finn right now. I know he's hurting, but the group is counting on him. They're in crisis, too. They need their leader."

"Finn's not going to be good for much right now, Mr. Schuester." She sounded defeated herself.

"I don't believe that for a minute," he said. "Finn's stronger than that. If I can get him to help, would you object to me sending him after them? I mean, does he have a car or anything?"

"No car," she said. "He could take mine..."

"I'll take care of it," Will said. "Thank you."

He found Finn in the locker room, stuffing footballs and old jerseys in his duffel. Finn glanced at him once, then looked away.

"Hey, Finn," said WIll. "I just called your mom. She told me you'd be here."

Finn paused. "You heard anything?"

"Yeah. It's pretty bad." He took a breath. "I _can't _be there."

Finn stared at him, a world of hurt in his eyes. "And I can? I can't even be in the same room as him without crying like a girl, and at the same time I can't look at him without wanting to punch his face off. How in hell am I supposed to _sing_ with him if I can't..." He gave one sharp shake of his head.

"I don't have any more pep talks, Finn," he said quietly. "You _know_ I know how you feel. All I know is that, between you and me—I don't think that they can win without you."

"But that's not fair," he said, not whining, just making a statement. He sounded bewildered. "Why does it always have to come down to me? Why do I always have to be the bigger man?"

Will shook his head regretfully. "Because, sometimes, being special sucks."

Finn sighed, on the edge of tears. "These last few months have been... unbelievable. Like there was this part of me I had no idea was there, and it just _came out_ of me_._ I know why they call it that now. Me and Kurt, and me and..." He cut himself off. "And now... I just want everything to be like... like it never happened, you know?"

Will remembered being in high school and telling Toby the very same thing. It made him ache. "You really wish that? You wish you guys had never...?"

Finn looked panicked. "No! Not that. I just wish I hadn't... done what I did. I wish I'd never told him that he couldn't have the baby. I wish I'd listened better. I wish... I'd been what he needed."

Will set his keys down on the locker room bench with finality. "Well, Finn…you can't always get what you want." He stood up and headed out the door. "Listen, I'll be in the choir room."

"Oh, Mr. Schue," he heard Finn call after him, "you forgot your keys."

"No, I didn't," he called back.

* * *

><p>Toby lingered in the lobby, watching the kids from the School for the Deaf signing excitedly with each other as their parents swarmed around them, offering hugs and smiles. He felt strange, being there; he'd been to dance competitions like this, but always with his kids. None of these kids were his. <em>Will's<em> kids were glaringly absent from the melee in the lobby, but they had seemed agitated when they'd cleared out of the auditorium for the first break.

He stuffed his program into his pocket and downed the last of his soda before he pushed himself off the wall with his foot, and that's when he was nearly run over.

"Kurt - wait!" Toby's head came up at the sound of the familiar name, and he saw a figure dash through the crowd, pushing ahead of himself with stumbling gasps, followed by a worried-looking African-American girl. The boy - Kurt - threw his body on the door to the men's room and disappeared inside.

The girl pulled up short of the door. "You have two minutes and then I'm coming in after you!" She slammed her fist against the door frame, and then sagged against the wall in frustration.

"You want me to get him?" Toby asked, and she looked up at him, startled. Then she squinted her eyes.

"Do I know you?" she said.

"I doubt it," he said, "but my gender matches the one on this door. It'd better be me going inside unless you want to make a fuss."

She bit her lip. "He's pretty upset."

"I'll send him out in as close to one piece as I can," Toby promised, pushing the door open and slipping inside.

"Hello?" Toby said, calling gently so he wouldn't startle the boy. "Your friend is pretty worried; I think she was ready to act as cavalry herself. You okay?"

Kurt turned away from the mirror he'd been staring into, and Toby needn't have asked. His eyes were red and watery, and an angry flush covered his neck and face.

"Oh, darlin', you're so far from okay. Can I help?" He reached into his pocket, around the stiff paper of the program, and held out a handkerchief. "Here. It's more gentle than paper towels."

"Thanks," Kurt said, sniffling into the soft fabric. He hesitated with it in his hand.

"Keep it," Toby urged. "I have more."

Kurt's eyes fixed on Toby's, and they widened to saucers. "Oh my god. _You -"_

"I'm here to help," said Toby. He leaned gingerly on the wall and crossed his arms.

"No, not that." Kurt shook his head like he had seen a ghost. "You- I- are you _Toby?" _

Toby considered the young man with fascination. He'd been hearing about him since Will had started directing Glee that fall, about how much he reminded Will of Toby himself when he was young. "What gave it away?" he said, grinning.

"I saw you in a picture at Brad's, and Duncan told me I reminded him of 'Uncle Toby.'" Kurt shrugged and lowered his voice. "And Mr. Schue told me, about the two of you."

"Really." That was a surprise - since when was Will out to _anyone?_ "I guess he felt like he could trust you."

Kurt looked down at his feet, and when he spoke his voice was soft, wistful. "We trust him, too."

"Will told me he wasn't allowed to be here. Something about a mattress?" Kurt rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that's what I thought... if Will couldn't be here, I wanted to come myself, to see you guys perform. But it looks like that's not the only problem you're having."

Kurt was knotting his hands together and pacing back and forth between the two sinks. "It's all a mess. They've got our set list - the other choirs! Those songs they sang, _we_ were going to do them. Now we have nothing." He turned agonized blue eyes on Toby. "And that's the least of it."

Toby nodded, and took a chance, reaching out a hand to still Kurt's frantic motions. Kurt startled lightly but didn't pull away. "Boy troubles?"

"It's Finn," he said, and paused. "Did Mr. Schue tell you? About me, and Finn and Noah?"

"No. He thought maybe, you and _Noah?_ I thought Puck was the one . . ."

Kurt smiled through strained eyes. "Noah is Puck. I just - I prefer calling him Noah, is all."

"Got it. So. You and Noah and Finn. You're a triad?"

"Like Brad and Andi and Laurie," Kurt nodded. His mouth tightened. "At least - we were. Now, I don't know anymore. I don't know _anything."_

Toby watched for half a second as Kurt's face crumbled, and he barely had a chance to breathe before he had moved into Kurt's space and wrapped his arms around the boy. "Shh," he whispered in Kurt's ear, the way he had when Duncan and Cory were babies. "It's okay." He couldn't bounce-and-sway with a teenager, but he figured the gentle shushing and back-rubbing would work the same.

"We've been working _so_ hard," Kurt cried, barely acknowledging Toby's embrace. "The songs, and our choreography - those wheelchairs, that was _our_ idea. We would have sung the ball bearings off those things. It's not _fair."_ The words were petulant, but Toby could see the pain in his eyes. "What kind of grown-ups would deliberately cheat like that?"

"People who are desperate to win, at all costs," said Toby. "If you're in this business, you're going to come across ruthless, lying, cheating people of all ages. You might as well be prepared for it."

"I just feel so _scared."_ Kurt leaned into Toby, who tightened his hold around Kurt's shoulder. "Now Finn's not _here,_ and we - I don't know how to do this without him."

"Yes, you do." Toby released Kurt and tilted his chin up, so he could look into Kurt's eyes. "You and me, we know how to get through. We know how to adapt, how to _survive_." Kurt nodded, and Toby wondered if anyone had ever seen that about Kurt before. "You did lots of things before Finn. I know it's not the same now, but you didn't _lose_ that part of yourself. You can find it again."

"I'm not sure I ever knew how to do what Finn does," he said, shaking his head. "He can get everybody to listen - he knows what to say, how to be. He's a _leader._ I can't do that."

"Darlin'. I'm not sayin' you have to be just like Finn. There are lots of different ways to be a leader. Will told me about the Lady Gaga song you did. Think about how it felt when you were organizing that. _That's _what you need to do now. Find _that_ energy and passion. That's all you need - that and your sparkling wit - and they'll do what you ask."

Kurt's smile was wry. "You don't even know me. How do you know my wit sparkles?"

Toby laughed. "Kurt, _look at me._ I think you can answer that question."

After Kurt cleaned himself up, he let Toby direct him back out to his anxious friend. "Mercedes," he said, with a hand on his arm, "this is _Toby."_

Mercedes' eyes were huge. "I remember now," she said. "You're in the picture at Brad's house."

"I feel like a right celebrity," Toby said, laughing, and he felt lightened by the way Kurt smiled, a true expression instead of the more forced one he'd worn when they'd emerged back into the hall. He caught Kurt's eye and lowered his voice. "You're strong, Kurt. You can do this."

Kurt shook his head slightly. "I can't - "

Toby reached over and squeezed Kurt's hand. "Yes, you can. This is your chance to shine."

Kurt looked at him through watery eyes, and Toby was more than a little shocked when Kurt flung himself at Toby, grabbing him in a tight hug. "Are you sure? I've never _done_ anything like that before."

Toby patted Kurt's shoulder before pulling away and looking square into Kurt's face. "We all have to learn to fly sometime, darlin'. You start now."

Toby watched Kurt and Mercedes walk back to the small group of students by the refreshment stand. He tried to remember Will's descriptions of each of his kids, and match them to the students he saw here. The boy in the wheelchair, he must be Artie, and the girl with him was probably Tina. And - the boy with the mohawk, that couldn't be anybody but Puck. _Puck._ He shook his head, marveling, at the way he and Kurt completely avoided eye contact, seeming for all the world like they didn't care one bit about each other. _That would wear on a body,_ he thought. _I remember trying to pretend like that around Will's parents, and they guessed it anyway._

He felt a wave of unease come over him as he saw the petite redhead walk up to Mercedes and speak with her calmly. _Emma._ It had to be. He stepped into the crowd, watching her interact with the children, gently communicating with each of them, smiling and listening to their words. For a moment, he considered walking up and introducing himself, but he guessed Will hadn't said a word to her about him. _Just as well, _he mused, heading upstairs to his seat. _Outside this auditorium, _I'm _the competition._

* * *

><p>Kurt pulled Puck into the shadows of the hallway. "You're not going to believe who I just ran into," Kurt said. When Puck didn't answer, he supplied it himself. "Toby's here."<p>

That got his attention; Kurt seemed pleased to have sparked a reaction. "Toby? Like, Mr. Schue's boyfriend?"

"Yes," Kurt said. "And he's fantastic. He knew who I was right away, and he gave me the sweetest pep talk. He's here to support us, since Mr. Schue can't be here."

"Huh." Puck ran an absent hand along Kurt's. "Well, we could use all the support we can get."

"We need to do something," Kurt said. His face looked determined. Puck wished he could feel anything, but Glee just didn't seem all that important right now.

"Talk to the Cheerios," he offered. "They're the ones who leaked the set list."

Kurt stormed off to confront Brittany, Santana and Quinn, while Puck slouched to the back of the room and tried not to be noticed. He really didn't feel up to being on stage right now. It wasn't that he didn't want to help; it was that the eyes on him were almost physically painful. He wondered what would happen if he just walked out the door and didn't come back. _Who would actually miss me, really? _

The tone in the room changed when Kurt suggested that Rachel was their star, and she smiled gratefully at him. Puck wanted to wipe that smile off her face, to shout, _You ruined my fucking life, Berry, and there's no way I'm singing backup to you._ But he knew it was pointless.

"We can close with "Somebody to Love," said Quinn. "It's a real crowd-pleaser."

Puck sighed. "Yeah, that and a can of soup will guarantee us third place. They even stole _True Fucking Colors_ from us. We still need another song we can all sing together."

And then the bottom dropped out of Puck's heart as Finn walked in the door. "I have one," he said.

Kurt's face brightened in a way that made Puck want to scream. _How can you depend on him? How can you -_ The question was moot, of course, because even Puck found himself drawn to Finn's calm, steady leadership, as he always had. Nothing else mattered.

"All we have going for us is that we believe in ourselves and what we're singing about," Finn said. "If we can show the judges that, we might have a shot at this thing."

"It's good to have you back, Finn," said Rachel with a smile.

Puck watched Finn surveying the rest of the group, and casually edged up to him, hand outstretched. "Cool, dude?" he said softly. _Please. Just touch me. Anything. I need - _

Finn's eyes were chilly as they looked him over. "No," he said, and turned away. Puck's hand stayed there, in the air, waiting, for far too long afterwards.

Kurt tracked Finn as he came over to the Glee kids planning choreography, smiling at him, but his smile faltered as he found Puck standing alone in the center of the room. Puck looked away. _Don't see me._

All he could do was bear it, now.

* * *

><p>"I'm in the balcony," Toby whispered over the phone to Brad. "They're about to come on."<p>

"I'm on pins and needles here," Brad said. Toby could hear him pacing. "These kids have worked so hard. I wish I could have been there."

"Don't worry about it," Toby said dismissively. _ "I'm_ here." He laughed, gazing down at the audience below, striped with the bright colors of show choirs sitting together in their matching outfits. "Do you know how Will always comes to watch me at my performances?"

"I know," Brad said, grinning. "I think he thinks you don't know about it, though."

"Yeah," said Toby. He propped his feet up on the seat in front of him. "He's got a weird perspective on the world. I think he doesn't realize _anybody_ notices a thing he does."

"You should see him with the kids, though," Brad said. "He's fantastic. They listen to him."

Toby snorted. "It's because he ain't nothin' but a kid, himself."

"You're robbing the cradle, then."

The lights came down, and Toby whispered, "They're starting - here, listen."

The announcer came out to the stage, and said, "And now, our final team. McKinley High's The New Directions!"

There was a silence, and then the pit struck up an all-too familiar melody. Toby put a hand to his mouth. "Ohhh, dear," he said.

"What?"

"Your diva. Can she pull off Barbra?"

"Sometimes," Brad said. "What is she singing?"

"Don't Rain on My Parade."

Brad was placidly confident. "If anybody can do it, it's Rachel. Just listen."

And, apparently, Rachel _could._ She flounced and expressed her way down the aisle, sitting in people's laps and giving it her all. The spotlight followed her to the stage, where she looked as much at home as anyone Toby had ever performed with. "Damn," he murmured.

"Yeah," said Brad, with obvious pride. "Like I said."

When the students came down the aisles, to applause and cheers, Toby saw someone he hadn't noticed before, a tall boy with an easy smile. "Who's that?"

"What's he look like?"

"Tall, brown hair. Handsome devil."

He heard Brad suck in a hiss of air. "Finn. That's _Finn_. Someone must have worked some magic to get him there. Good."

Toby was pleased to see that Kurt looked one hundred percent better, and Puck was - well, he was moving, which Toby figured was good enough for now.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Rachel called out, beaming, as the whole choir joined her on stage. "New Directions."

They started up the next song, and Brad made an exclamation. "What the...? They never... that wasn't on their set list. They didn't even _rehearse _that song."

"Things went all to hell, Bradley. Kurt said the other teams used their songs. They're doin' this on the fly, all of it."

And they actually sounded pretty good. Toby listened with interest as Finn began to sing. "That's Finn, huh? Not bad."

"Don't ask him to dance, though," Brad chuckled. "It's not pretty. I don't think _you'd_ even be able to teach him."

_You can't always get what you want  
><em>_You can't always get what you want  
><em>_You can't always get what you want  
><em>_But if you try sometimes, you just might find  
><em>_You get what you need_

Rachel led the girls through a loose choreography. Toby wondered who'd thrown that together. The audience was reacting to their energy, on their feet clapping and dancing along. He didn't think any of the other groups had elicited _that_ kind of response. Toby felt like dancing himself.

"I hear Mercedes," Brad said anxiously, as the group wailed out the last note. "Did they do all right?"

"Listen for yourself," Toby said, and held his phone up so Brad could hear the applause raining through the auditorium. He might not be their teacher, but he was just as proud as he would have been if they'd been his own students.

They closed with the most vivid, joyous presentation of a Queen song that Toby had ever seen from a show choir. "Tell me they've sung this one before," he said to Brad. "It's way too intricate to have been thrown together at the last minute."

"Yes, that's one they did earlier in the year," murmured Brad. "Good choice."

_Each morning I get up I die a little  
><em>_Can barely stand on my feet  
><em>_Take a look in the mirror and cry  
><em>_Lord what you're doing to me  
><em>_I have spent all my years in believing you  
><em>_But I just can't get no relief, Lord  
><em>_Somebody, somebody  
><em>_Can anybody find me somebody to love?_

Amidst the final applause, Toby snuck out the back and into the coat closet. "I'm going to give Will a call," he said. "Don't tell him I was here, okay?"

"You two are such drama queens," he said. Toby could almost hear him rolling his eyes over the phone. "This is your chance, you know, now that Terri's out of the -"

"Don't go there, Bradley," warned Toby. "I'll come by after my interview. Mum's the word until we know for sure if I got the job, understood?"

"Okay, okay," he sighed. "Thanks for calling. It was great to hear them perform."

Toby dialed Will's number, muffling the sound of the crowd with the coats.

"Hi," said Will, surprised. "I just got off the phone with Emma. The kids - they pulled it off! They took a terrible situation and did a fantastic job."

"That's great, darlin'. You must be so proud of them. They had a lot stacked against them." He smiled into the phone, and wondered if Will got the same rush from secret visits that Toby was having right now.

"I wish you could be here," Will said. He sighed. "There was... a big blow-up on Friday. Finn cut and run, but I got him to go back. I sent him out there with a secret weapon. I hope they're okay." He laughed. "I hope he doesn't wreck my car."

"He's their leader, I'm sure it was fine. And are you really worried about your car? It's practically held together with string and paperclips, darlin'."

He heard Will's footfalls as he walked; he wondered if he was in the auditorium. "You'll never guess," he said. "Kurt - he's dating _two _of the boys in Glee. A triad, like Brad. He told me earlier this week. Kind of blew my mind."

"Wow." Toby thought about Kurt, broken and sobbing in the bathroom. "That's - um, a _lot_ for sixteen year olds. I'm glad they felt they could trust you, Will. It'll be good for them to have an ally at school."

"I... I told Kurt about us." His voice was soft, almost awed. "Well, he figured it out. Toby, one of my students _knows_ about us. It's kind of..." Toby waited for it.

"What is it?" he said, breathlessly.

"It's kind of amazing," Will said, and he _sounded _amazed. He laughed to himself. "Is this how it feels for you? Being... open about yourself?"

"I don't know that I've ever really been in the closet, darlin'. But yes, that is how it feels." Toby hunched over and spoke quietly into his phone, _wanting_ to be talking about this face to face with Will, but doing the best he could to make a public place more intimate. "I'm proud of you."

"Thanks," he said. "I think... I think I could get used to it."

Toby lowered his voice again. "I love you, Will."

He listened to Will sigh, soft and staticky into his ear. "Toby." His voice sounded choked. "I - _God_, I love you, too."

"I wish I could talk all day, but I need to be goin'." He thought about the interview, and all the promise it held, and about what it might feel like to hold Will in his arms tonight... but he needed to hold his secrets a little bit longer.

"Hot date?" Will's tone was lightly teasing, but Toby could hear something a little jealous, too.

"No, darlin'. No dates. Just work stuff. The holiday concert, it's coming on too fast and some of my kids are in The Nutcracker with the Colorado Ballet, and there just isn't enough time." There was _never_ enough time, not for his kids, not for Will. And there wouldn't be until he made some changes in his life. _Until you find a way to get your ass a job in Ohio_, his thoughts echoed.

"I have to go too," Will's voice was regretful. "Ken and Emma are getting married this afternoon."

"They're actually going to - "

"I think I'm the _last_ person who should hold any kind of judgement over anyone else's life, Toby. You've taught me that. They're friends, and they deserve my support."

Toby checked his watch, and stood to straighten his appropriately casual black slacks and green shirt. He tucked his phone against his ear as he made his way outside to the front of the auditorium. "Have fun at the wedding. Will you be around tomorrow? We can have ourselves a right proper phone call, if you want."

Toby pretended he didn't hear Will's snort of laughter that preceded his words. "I'd like that."

"Good," Toby nodded. "Bye, darlin'."

"Bye," Will said, and the love was evident in his voice. "Thanks again for calling."

Toby hung up his phone and stuffed it into his pocket as he strode confidently towards the elegantly dressed brown-haired woman standing alone in front of the main doors. "Shelby Corcoran?"

At her nod he held out his hand and put on his best show face. "Toby Grey." Her handshake was strong, and she didn't blink when Toby used his arm to steer her towards the parking lot. "How about I buy you a coffee before you decide to hire me."


	21. Chapter 21

_(Author's note: Once again, several portions of this - a good chunk of the Will scene - was yanked directly from the show, for continuity. Please don't sue me. I'm not worth it; trust me. Enjoy. -amy)_

* * *

><p>After the competition was over, Puck successfully avoided Kurt and everybody else, threading through the parking lot toward his truck. <em>Kurt can go home on the bus. Or with Finn. I'm driving myself home. <em>

But he couldn't hardly keep his hands on the steering wheel, and as he turned the ignition, he felt the rumble of the engine in his bones. Everything felt a little more raw right now. Singing had almost done him in, performing the choreography with Finn so close, right there on stage, almost within touching distance. He felt the exhilaration of winning, but hot on its heels came the memory of their fight, and he couldn't let himself do anything but sob, there in his truck.

_I need something. I need... god, I need..._

He knew where he could get it. With renewed intention, he headed downtown, back to Lima.

* * *

><p>There was a great banging on the door, and from within his office, Carl perked up his ears. "Angela -" he heard an anguished voice plead.<p>

"What are you doing here?" she hissed. "It's Saturday. We're closed."

"Please, just let me in," said the voice, and he recognized it. _The young sub. The one I... _He sighed, flinching at the memory. _That was a hell of a fuck-up. Thank God for Tess._

"I'm not supposed to let anybody in," she insisted. "But you look terrible. What happened?"

"Too much to tell," he said. "I need to talk to Dr. Howell. _Please."_

It wasn't in Angela's nature to resist such pleas, and he knew she'd break down if he didn't rescue her. "Angela," he called softly. "Let him in."

"Yes, sir," she said immediately, relieved, and he walked out to see her unfastening the locks on the glass doors on the storefront. It was convenient, to hide in plain sight like this. _Just diagonal from the county courthouse,_ he smiled to himself. It suited his sense of humor - and it _was_ convenient for Davis, when he met clients as part of his law practice. But even more, it was amusing to see people passing by on the sidewalk, never knowing, never _dreaming _what was happening behind those tinted windows.

It was the boy, the one with the mohawk. Angela was right; he did look terrible, his eyes barely smudges of dark in a pale, sweaty face. "Get him some juice," he told her, and, ever obedient, she went right away. He indicated one of the reception area chairs, and the boy sank into it, looking doubtfully out the windows.

"Nobody can see in," he said, reassuringly. He kept his hands to himself, though the sub clearly needed comforting, remembering his unfortunate situation the first time they'd met here. _Probably still doesn't have any paperwork,_ he thought with frustration. _If that was the case, I'm going to have to send it home. _

"Does your - does Finn know you're here?" It was strange, seeing the boy viewing him from that clearly submissive position, which just seemed to come naturally to it - _him,_ he cautioned himself. Usually, the only sub around here with a personality was Angela, and that was because she had a job to do, interacting with the public and fulfilling her receptionist duties. Subs came to him because they wanted one thing, and he was good at giving it to them. He wasn't used to tiptoeing around baby bottoms like this one.

_But I'll be damned if I'm going to mess this up again,_ he thought with determination. _It - _he_ - whatever he needs. I'll take care of him. _

"The boy's paperwork," he murmured to Angela, as she returned with a can of mango juice. He offered it to the sub with a straw. "Drink this," he said calmly, and was gratified to see the boy obey instantly, even in his distressed state. _A natural,_ he thought, blinking. _It was a long time ago, but - I imagine Tess saw me do this, once._ He tried to assume her demeanor, to impart some of her age-old wisdom and patience to this situation. It was easy to ask himself, in situations like this, _What would Tess do here?_ It wasn't always so easy to figure it out, but he did his best.

She handed him a folder. Thank God; he'd completed at least the basic consent forms, and there was Finn's signature, alongside the boy's own scrawl. He knew finding a parent signature would be difficult, though in the end, they would really need one of those, or they'd have to wait until Finn and his boys were eighteen for... certain things. For now, it looked like the sub just needed some care, though if his instinct was right, he was wrestling with some serious demons.

He checked the top of the page; the word in the box marked SW was nonsense to him, but he assumed it was pronounced just as it was spelled. He'd have to check with the boy as soon as he was calm.

"It's safe here," he said. "It - you can ask for whatever you need." He put a tentative hand on the boy's shoulder, gauging temperature, heart rate, and general vitals with one practiced touch. Stable, and he imagined the juice was helping boost his blood sugar.

"I can't... I don't know," he murmured. "I need... so many fucking things."

He knew Tess was a stickler about language, but things were different among boys, and this was one of them. "You're cold," he said. "Will you come with me?" The boy rose to follow him immediately.

He paused. "Does Finn know where you are?" he repeated, realizing he hadn't gotten an answer before.

"Finn won't touch me," he said in a monotone. "He's... he's done with me." His voice broke on the word _done._ Indeed, he looked _done._

"Oh, Jesus," he murmured. He would need to be extra careful around an open box like this one. Things tended to... accumulate... inside, when there was no Top. "Come on. I'm going to get you into a hot bath." He began the standard patter, helping talk him down. "This is a safe place. Nothing will happen without your consent."

"Okay," he said, his head low, following Carl up the stairs to the playrooms.

* * *

><p>"Did you see Noah leave?" Kurt said anxiously.<p>

"Honestly, I wasn't watching him," Finn said, jerking the door on Mr. Schue's old junker closed. He'd been hoping to drive home by himself, but It looked like he wasn't going to get away that easily. "Kurt..."

"Thank god you showed up," Kurt said, leaning back in the passenger seat and staring at the ceiling. "This could have been so much worse. It _was_ so much worse. You pulled us out of it." Kurt shook his head. "I'm... I couldn't do it."

"Kurt, don't worry about it," Finn said. "We won, didn't we? That's all that mattered."

"No, for a minute, I thought Toby might be _right,"_ he said, gesturing at the auditorium. "I thought maybe I _could_ be a leader. I thought I could... but I just felt so _angry,_ every time I tried to step into that situation, I just wanted to _scream _at all of them." He rolled his head to look at Finn. "How do you _do_ it?"

Finn was taken aback, but he replied honestly. "I - I just make it about them," he said. "I try to see things from the perspective of what they would ask for, if they could. Mostly I keep myself out of it." He shrugged. "Well, as you can see, I'm not so good at that."

Kurt sighed. "No, Finn. You _are_ good at that. And usually, you're good at trying again, trying something new, when the first thing you try doesn't work. You don't usually get stuck in this... this cycle of self-recrimination and anger." He looked reproachful. "What are you going to do about it?"

Finn looked hard at the ancient steering wheel. It was covered with tape, holding together the ripped seams with an effort. "I don't know," he said miserably.

Kurt's soft hand covered his, and he flinched. "Can I help?" Kurt asked, in a softer voice.

"I don't know," he repeated.

Finn started the car and eased it out of the parking lot. It wasn't until they were on the highway that Finn glanced over at Kurt and realized he was crying. "Baby," he said.

"Don't - " Kurt choked, shaking his head. "Don't even _try _to take care of me until you figure this out for yourself." He looked as angry as Finn had ever seen him, and glared at Finn through his tears. "I'm trying to be as understanding as I can, but this - this is _Noah._ We're supposed to be taking care of _him, first._ And you... I watched you shoot him down, today, _again."_

"I wasn't ready," he said, shaken.

"He took a risk," Kurt said. "I _saw_. You just looked at him like... like he was _nothing._ You should know better than to treat _him_ that way."

Finn nodded, slowly. "I - I guess you're right," he said. "But, Kurt, if I'd have touched him today, there in that room, there's no way I could have stopped touching him. That... tell me that would have been better." He pleaded inside for Kurt to understand.

Kurt was silent. "I don't know," he said. "I'm thinking it might have been. Finn, when Noah's needed us before, even in Glee, nobody's hesitated to be there for him, no matter how it looked. We put each other _first._ I think you need to let him know that, no matter what he did, you're going to still love him."

"I'm not at all sure I _can_ do that, Kurt." He struggled to explain, under Kurt's outraged glare. "No - it's not that I don't... care about him. It's that I don't know if I _should. _ If I can't be... if I can't be in control, it would be better if I wasn't... if I didn't..."

"I know you're afraid," Kurt said. "You've got to get through that." He wiped his eyes gently with one finger, just the way Quinn did when she was trying to avoid her mascara, and Finn felt a stab of anguish. He drove Kurt the rest of the way to his house in silence.

Kurt got out of the car, and was about to walk away when Finn called him back. The driver's side window would only go down halfway, so he had to get out of the car to face him, there on the sidewalk.

"I have to take Mr. Schue's car back to school," Finn said. "But I want to see you tonight." He reached for him, pulled him close. Kurt glanced up and down the street nervously.

"Finn," he said. "It's broad daylight."

"Can I see you?" Finn pressed. "I miss you, Kurt - I miss _us._"

Kurt hesitated, then twisted away from his embrace. "Yes," he said. "I'll come to your house after dinner."

As Finn was getting back into the car, Kurt's phone rang. He looked down at it in surprise. "It's... it's Dr. Howell," he said in wonder. "Why's he calling _me?"_

Finn felt a sinking sensation as he watched Kurt answer the phone. _God. Puck... _

"Hello? Yes, it's he... yes... um, yes, sir." Kurt bit his lip and glanced up at Finn. He looked even more startled. "Yes, I am... sometimes. I mean, me and Finn... oh. Well, right now, they're having a... a conflict, but it'll get resolved, it'll be okay."

"Kurt?" Finn asked faintly.

Kurt's face changed, to one of panic, then he visibly took that feeling and wrestled it down. "I - he thinks he needs that?" Kurt said. "Then... I guess he can have it, sir." He listened, nodded. "Yes. It - it's okay with me, sir."

"What is he doing?"

Kurt gave Finn one shake of his head. "All right. Would you please call me when he's... when he's ready to come home? I'll come pick him up."

"Kurt," Finn pleaded.

"Thank you, sir," he said, and he tucked the phone away. "Finn..."

"He's seeing him, isn't he." The white-hot fury that pulsed through him at the thought was unexpected. "He went to Dr. Howell, looking for... _that."_

"Finn, if he needs it, he should get it from somebody," Kurt said. He crossed his arms and held himself tight. "God. This shouldn't be this hard."

Finn suddenly felt like he was going to explode, and if he didn't get out of Kurt's driveway, it was going to be all over _him._ "I'll see you after dinner," he said, and pulled away, watching Kurt standing there as he drove off.

The parking lot by the choir room at McKinley was almost empty; the bus hadn't returned yet. He sat there, alone, in Mr. Schue's old car, and gripped the steering wheel. "Fuck," he whispered. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck, FUCK."_ By the end he was screaming, crying, hitting the wheel as hard has he could - it wasn't as though there was anything else he could do to the wheel, but it felt good to hit _something._

He wanted to hit him again. He wanted to make him - he wanted to -

"Puck," he said, hearing his tone shred into pieces, breathing hard. "God... Puck."

He couldn't face Mr. Schue, not like this, so he took his keys and tucked them under the driver's side wheel, out of sight. Then he took out his phone and sent him a text. He still had his phone number from the time that Sarah ran away. _Thanks for your car, _he sent. _Your keys are under the wheel. __We did good. I'll see you Monday._

Then he began the long walk back to his house. It didn't matter. He needed the time to think.

* * *

><p>"Hi," said a soft voice, and Will's eyes shot up from putting on his dress shoes to see Terri standing in the doorway. They flickered away quickly.<p>

"I thought you worked on Saturday afternoon," he said.

She looked uncomfortable. _Good,_ he thought. "Yeah, I came home early. I'm tired. I haven't been sleeping very well." She set her coat down on the sideboard. "What's with the monkey suit?"

He didn't comment on the irony of being in the closet when she came home, but he did use the door to hide behind while he got out his black tie. He could feel the tension in his gut, and he _knew_ this was the time to do it, to tell her, finally, but he wasn't sure if he had the nerve. "Ken and Emma's wedding; it's at four."

"Oh, yeah." She hesitated as he wrapped the tie around his neck, under his collar, then stepped in with helping hands. "Here."

"Oh, I'm fine," he said casually.

She fell back, dropping her hands to her side, watching him with guarded eyes. "I want you to know I've been seeing a therapist. It's just at the local community center, but still."

He gave her what he hoped was an encouraging nod. "Good. I hope it works out for you."

Terri tried again, cornering him as he folded his collar down. "I'm taking responsibility, Will. I mean, I'm weak, and I'm selfish, and I let my anxiety rule my life, but you know I wasn't always that way."

_Yes, you were, _he wanted to say, but that was spiteful and unnecessary. He just listened.

She looked up into his eyes, pleading. "I wanted so many things that I knew we were never going to have. But I could live without them."

He furrowed his brow. "You could live without me being in love with you?"

Terri bit her lip. "I – I've always known it was never going to be only me. It was just the way we were." She cupped her hands on his face. "But that was okay as long as I still _had_ you."

"How could that be okay with you, Terri? Don't you think that's part of why you've always been so angry with me? Don't you deserve more than that?" He shook his head. "I'm looking at you, and I'm trying. I mean, I always _wanted_ to feel that feeling of family, of love for you. But it's not you I feel it for."

She looked stricken. "You _never_ felt it?"

"I don't know."

"It's him." Her voice was quiet, tinged with envy. "I always wanted – what the two of you had."

"You can still have that, Terri. Just… not with me."

She laughed, a bitter sound. "How can you say that? How many people _ever _have that, with anybody? I thought what we had was good enough."

"It was. But this… this lie." He gazed into the mirror, watching her behind him, her expression hopeless. "It's the last one between us."

"Well." She gave him a half smile. "Now you just have to decide if you're strong enough to do what you should have done years ago, or if you're going to settle for the consolation prize yet again."

"I don't know what you –"

"No, Will, you _said_ that was the last lie," she said, fierce, and she spun him to face her. "Don't tell yourself any new ones. I saw the way Emma looked at you. She would drop Ken in a heartbeat for you, if you asked. It could be easy, again. You could have everything you had with me… the loving trophy wife, and your weekend boy on the side."

He'd never heard Terri talk openly about Toby this way, even though he knew she knew, had always known, from that first weekend they'd spent together freshman year in Terri's dorm room. It made the hairs on his neck prickle, realizing how transparent they'd been.

She shook her head, tears shining in her eyes. _"Don't_ be stupid, Will. Most people would kill for what the two of you have. The worst tragedy here would be for you to throw it away _again._"

"I'm not –" He thought he was going to say _I'm not gay,_ his age-old refrain, but he couldn't, not to Terri. Instead he said, "I'm not sure what I want."

"Yes, you are," she said impatiently. "You've always known. At least be honest with yourself, even if you can't be with anybody else." She patted him once on the chest and gave him a brisk smile. "It's time for you to grow up, Will."

_I told myself that, once, fourteen years ago,_ he thought to himself, watching her collect her things and walk out the door. _I thought I knew what was best for me then, but I was wrong. It's not too late for me to make this right._

Will stopped at Sheets & Things to pick up a wedding gift for Emma. He figured it was only a little tacky to use Terri's discount, and it meant he could afford the expensive set of crystal dishes on Emma's registry. He thought he would be right on time for the wedding, and so was a little surprised to find a nearly-empty parking lot when he got to the hall. At first he wasn't sure he was even in the right place.

But there was Emma, sitting all alone in the center of the reception hall, head in her beautifully gloved hand.

"Hey, nice ice sculpture," he said, striding in. He looked around. "Where's Ken?"

Emma smiled, but it never touched her eyes. "Home, I'd imagine. Probably trying to regain some of the pride that I stole from him." She looked apologetic. "He dumped me."

"What?" gasped Will.

She smiled sadly. "He said moving the wedding for sectionals was the last straw."

Will sank into the chair beside her. He couldn't help think how _lovely_ she looked in the midst of her pain. "But I thought he understood that you were doing this for the kids."

"He understood that… I _wasn't_ doing it for the kids." She glanced at her lap. "I was doing it for you."

Will just sat there with his mouth open. _Terri was right. _In that moment, he felt so bad for her, he would have done just about anything to make Emma feel better. "I'm so sorry," he said, lamely.

"No - gosh, no," she hastened to say, "it's not your fault. I-I really messed up. He was absolutely right. I was settling for him. Really, one blink from you, Will, and I would have been out the door."

He could see it, what would have happened. _ I would have just left Terri and picked up with Emma as though nothing were different. And I never would have even considered telling her about Toby… nor would I have thought once about leaving him. _He was appalled at himself, even as the very thought of not having Toby in his life filled him with sorrow. _Shouldn't that tell me something?_

But Emma was going on. "So, um… I e-mailed my resignation to Figgins. My last day is Monday."

"No," he protested, but she shook her head.

"I just can't be at that school. I can't see Ken without feeling ashamed, and I can't see you without feeling heartbroken."

As she rose to go, he reached out to her. "Emma..."

She kept moving. "No. I'm sorry. I'm going."

"But I just…"

"Whatever it is, Will, it can wait. Tell me about it on Monday. I can't take any more surprises today."

He tried to think of something positive he could offer. "You make a beautiful bride," he called as she went out the door.

"Thank you," came her whispered reply.

In the wake of her departure, he trudged slowly up to the woman standing behind the counter. "Open bar?" he said hopefully, and she gave him a sympathetic look.

"Paid for," she said. "Help yourself."

"Just one," he allowed, and downed a glass of wine in one gulp. _And more to come when I get home. It's just been one of those days. _

By the time he called Toby a few hours later, he was feeling _fine_. "Hey, there," he said, grinning into the phone.

"Will?" said Toby, sounding startled. "Oh, Will... what's going on, darlin'?"

He leaned back on his couch – the couch he'd picked out with Terri on the eve of their second anniversary, back when he and Toby weren't talking at all – and let his head loll onto the folded green fleece blanket Toby had purchased for him in Denver last winter. "Just thinking about you, baby. God, we've known each other a _long_ time, haven't we?"

"A long time," Toby echoed flatly. "Yes. Will, you're –"

"I can't believe some of the stuff we've been through together," he went on. "So many fights… so many times we've said we were _done, _and then –"

"Yes, Will, I know. But it doesn't have to be that way…"

"- so much makeup sex," Will sighed, shifting his hips. "Toby, I want you _so_ bad…"

"Will. _Will,"_ he said.

"What, baby?"

"You're drunk."

"Your point?" Will said. "Trust me, if you'd been with me today, you'd be drunk, too. Terri was at the apartment this afternoon. She had some _choice_ words for me about our relationship."

"Our… relationship?" Toby said, sounding cautious.

"That's right. You and me. Us. She knew _allllll _about it."

He heard Toby release a soft sigh. "We worked so hard to hide it…"

Will's snort was anything but delicate. "You think we did? I think it was pretty _fucking obvious._ Or else Kurt wouldn't have been able to figure it out. Or _Puck._ God, I was so stupid, bringing your letter with me to school…"

"You _what?"_

"Sue found it, of course, the sneaky little shit; she's always trying to dig up dirt on me…" He rolled his shoulders and closed his eyes, feeling dizzy from the alcohol. "Well, fuck 'er. She's not going to get in my way."

"Hmmm. What exactly is it you're planning?"

"I'm bringing this whole mess to Figgins on Monday. She's not going to get away with this anymore. I'm exposing her for the fraud she is."

Toby's voice was amused. "You're so adorable when you're being tough, darlin'."

"Oh. _Oh. _And I didn't tell you about _Emma."_ He started to giggle. "Emma and me, we were the only ones at her wedding. Good thing we didn't follow the old fashioned rules about brides being left at the altar, or else I might have ended up getting married today. Oh, wait, I forgot – I still am married!" He collapsed into helpless laughter.

"Poor Emma. What happened?"

"Ken gave up on her. Apparently, she's in love with someone _else._ Wait for it…"

"You," Toby sighed.

"M – hey." Will sat up. "How'd you know?"

"Will, _everybody_ knows everything before you do. It's a law of physics. The Will Schuester Principle: Will moves slower than every other body in motion."

"How… never mind." He waved his hand vaguely. "So Terri totally called it. She said Emma would have picked right up with me, and I would have gone along with it – as long as I could still have _you_." He sighed in disgust. "And she's _right_. I would have. Isn't that cheap? Tawdry?"

"That's been our life for the past four years, darlin'. I can't say it wasn't on my mind for most of them."

"Why didn't you say something?" he wailed.

"_Will."_ Toby's voice was a growl. "I _did_. Every time you visited. Don't you _remember?_ I'd say, 'Will, I want you to give up Terri and be with me.' And you'd say 'Toby, I love you, but I'm not gay.' And I'd say, 'Shit. Okay, movin' along then.' End of story."

Will was silent. He poured himself another finger of scotch. Eventually, he said, "God, Toby, I'm an asshole."

"Yeah," Toby said fondly. "And I love you anyway."

The tears sprang even more readily to Will's eyes when he was drunk. "I love you, too, Toby," he whispered.

"It's fine, Will." He was soothing. "It's going to be okay. I'm taking care of it."

"Really?"

"Uh-huh. Just you wait and see. You're going to be amazed."

Will thought that was almost certainly true. Toby was amazing. He thought about other amazing things. "Can you believe, Kurt and Finn… _and Puck."_ He shook his head, dazed. "Jesus."

"Yeah."

He grew pensive. "Toby, did you ever think that maybe _we –"_

"_No."_ The response was firm and horrified. "Will, you are enough of a trial for me all on your lonesome. Don't even _think_ about it."

"Okay, okay," he said, subdued. Then he brightened again, stretching out on the couch. "But wouldn't that solve my problem about women? I'm always chasing women, Toby, and if I _had_ one, _and _I had you, wouldn't that be –"

"No," Toby said again, this time with weariness. "No, it wouldn't. Will, you don't _want_ a girl."

"I think girls are pretty. Emma's pretty."

"You don't want Emma. Trust me, you try kissing her and you'll find out. You want _me."_

"Yeah, I do," he moaned. "You're so great, Toby… I'm _crazy_ about you. You're gorgeous, you know that? God, your _calves._ I could talk for a half hour just about your calves."

"I might let you," said Toby.

"And your _hands_… and Toby, your _voice." _ He became imploring, leaning on his stomach on the couch cushion. "Sing me something."

"Will, I'm… there's someone here."

"Oh." He swallowed. "Is… is he cute?"

"Very," said Toby.

"Cuter than me?"

"I'm afraid so," Toby said mournfully.

"Oh." He tried not to feel hurt, but this was the way of things. "Okay. I'll let you go, then."

"Good night, darlin'."

"G'night," he said, and regretfully hung up.

* * *

><p>Toby set down the phone on Brad's coffee table amid peals of feminine laughter. "That… was <em>priceless,"<em> Andi gasped, bending over herself in mirth.

"You were really too cruel there at the end," Laurie scolded. "He thought you meant a _man."_

"Will won't hardly remember this in the morning, darlin'," Toby said blithely, cuddling the aforementioned cuter boy in his lap – three year old Duncan, fast asleep. "And he would have gone on and on for hours if I'd let him."

"You two." Laurie shook her head. "It's like a soap opera."

"Worse," Brad affirmed. "And you say _I've_ got drama."

"I could use a decidedly smaller dose of that," Toby acknowledged. "But you remember how awful things were during those three years when we weren't talkin'. It was miserable, for both of us. For everyone." He shook his head. "Tomorrow I'm headin' out to Carmel for that interview, and we'll see what kind of offer they make me."

"He'd be a fool to turn you down, having you so close." Then Andi smothered a groan, realizing what she'd said. Toby nodded wryly.

"Darlin'. He's already a fool. You know it, and I know it."

"You're everything he's ever wanted," Brad protested.

"Excepting that one itsy-bitsy detail." Toby sighed. "I'm a man. And Will's _not gay."_

* * *

><p><em>I'm almost everything you have ever wanted<br>__I'm almost your best dream come true  
><em>_We fit so perfectly  
><em>_Oh, I almost can't believe  
><em>_How I'm almost all I need to be_

_There's something now in your smile  
><em>_Just this side of distant  
><em>_And something else just that side of true  
><em>_This road's so old and worn from  
><em>_The countless nights I've sworn  
><em>_Oh, I could be all you'd need me to  
><em>_Almost_

_I don't know where to go  
><em>_To find our missing pieces  
><em>_I sit and stare and wonder where to start  
><em>_But then I look at you  
><em>_And I know it can't be true  
><em>_That something's here pulling us apart_

_Some days I wonder how we'll walk this line  
><em>_Some days I think I feel your heart in mine_

_Well, underneath the surface  
><em>_Love isn't ever perfect, heaven knows  
><em>_So we'll just close that door  
><em>_Almost_

_-Cheryl Wheeler_

_http:/ www. youtube. com/watch?v=OJv3Y97i4nk_


	22. Chapter 22

_(Author's note: Warning in this chapter for discipline. If you don't like it, you can skip and infer what happened from the next chapter, but there are some plotty bits you might miss. -amy)_

* * *

><p>Puck felt… well, if not more <em>himself,<em> than definitely _better,_ after a hot bath. Dr. Howell helped him out of his clothes with chaste efficiency and hustled him into the deep sunken tub in the center of the room. The lighting was dim and primarily natural, from skylights and light tubes, and the bath was hung with flowering plants. Quiet piano music flowed from hidden speakers; he thought he might recognize one of the pieces as something Kurt was playing. It was just about the most peaceful room he'd ever been in, and he stayed there a long time, until his skin was pruned and spongy. Finally he rose out of the tub, dried himself off with a towel big enough to be a blanket, and looked with bemusement at the clean, folded t-shirt and sweatpants sitting on the counter. _What was this place?_

He pulled on the clothes and left his own sweaty jeans and white t-shirt on the floor. The door to the other room stood ajar, and when he pulled it open, he found himself in an octagonal room, simply decorated in muted tones. It had the same natural lighting as did the other room, with skylights and light tubes warming the room from the ceiling high above. There was a desk, a half-circular couch, and a few chairs facing the center. A soft round rug lay on the floor. Dr. Howell sat on the couch. When Puck came out, he looked up at him and smiled gently. "Won't you sit down."

It didn't feel like a request, exactly, but Puck knew if he'd resisted, it would have been okay. Dr. Howell had explained how he was able to stop everything, at any time, just by saying Meemee's name, at which point he could come downstairs with his things and go home. _Or somewhere._ Puck felt a sense of dread at the idea. _Wherever the hell I'm staying tonight. _He wondered if he should just bite the bullet and go back to his house. His Ma couldn't do worse than throw him out again. He kind of thought she wouldn't, after their last interaction, and even though he really didn't relish the idea of dealing with her every day again, he kind of missed her. And he missed Sarah way more fucking much than that.

Puck came to the couch and sat across from Dr. Howell on the couch. He was dressed casually, in a black t-shirt and jeans. His hair was shorter than the last time Puck had seen him, and he was clean-shaven. Puck thought again of a feline predator, but this time he didn't seem so scary, just very powerful and sleek and beautiful, like a panther reclining in the sun.

"Tell me why you're here," said Dr. Howell.

He stared at Dr. Howell's tanned hand. He wore a gold band on the fourth finger of his right hand. "I… I'm freaking out. Because of something Finn did. Something I did."

Dr. Howell nodded. "You're upset. But why come to me?"

"Because Finn… because I need…" He crossed his arms over his chest. It was warm in the room, but he suddenly felt a chill. "I didn't know where else to go," he admitted.

"You're looking for someone to help you the way Finn helps you. Is that right?"

He stared at the floor. "Yeah."

"Puck," said Dr. Howell, and Puck looked up, surprised. He thought maybe that was the first time he'd heard him say his name. He was gazing at him with calm patience. "There's nothing wrong with needing that. Do you know that?"

"Sometimes."

"That's good. I have arrangements with many young men just like you."

Puck glanced at him uneasily. "Dude, you don't, like, have a thing for _boys,_ do you?"

Dr. Howell smiled, a genuine smile, surprising in its honesty. "You're safe here," he said. "I'm not going to seduce you. This is about you, getting what you need."

"You didn't answer my question," Puck said.

"I'm trying to tell you it's irrelevant. I'm a professional, fulfilling a role, just as Angela fulfills hers. It's not sexual. But if you'd feel more comfortable knowing, I've had both male and female partners. Not boys."

"Not sexual?" Puck wasn't sure he believed that, mostly because he knew damn well what happened when Finn or Kurt spanked him. He guessed there was something illegal about selling sex, but he didn't really know. _This isn't like that, is it?_

There must have been something that looked like suspicion on his face, because Dr. Howell leaned back and clasped his hands together. "Puck, this kind of arrangement only works if there is a high degree of trust between both parties. If you're not feeling like you can trust me here – and I would understand, given what has already transpired between us – I think you're going to have to look elsewhere. I'd be happy to set things up for you with Davis, my partner, though he tends toward the receptive role in these—"

"No," Puck said, rather louder than he'd intended, and Dr. Howell paused, a slight smile on his lips. "No," he said again, forcing himself to relax. "I'm… I want your help."

"All right," he said. "Do you know what you need?"

Puck would have never said _a hot bath,_ but he did feel a hell of a lot better than he had when he'd walked in. "I thought I did," he said. "But I'm wrong about that stuff a lot. Maybe you can help me figure it out."

Dr. Howell nodded slowly. "Before we establish any kind of arrangement," he said, "I'm going to want to talk some more, and learn about you. This isn't an interview; it's more casual, a personal conversation, to help me figure out what you need. Then we can set up some ground rules, and talk about what comes next."

"Okay," Puck said.

"You've selected a safe word. Would you say it, please?"

"Meemee," he said. Dr. Howell nodded.

"Would you stand, please?"

He hesitated, then got up, standing before the couch.

Dr. Howell stood as well and walked over to him. They were almost exactly the same height. He looked him up and down, calculating and impartial, like a… well, like a _doctor._ Puck felt a strange sensation of calm and quiet inside at his appraisal. It was a lot like the way he'd felt when Kurt took him shopping.

"I'm going to touch your back," he murmured, leaning closer. Puck could smell his high-end aftershave, and the scent of mint that must come standard when you graduate from dental school. He felt his warm hand through the t-shirt, and he shivered again. "Are you cold?"

"A little," he admitted, feeling somehow embarrassed about this.

"You're a little dehydrated. That mango juice the first thing you had today?" Puck nodded, still more embarrassed. "So I expect you're hungry, too. I want you to eat something. I can have Angela bring us some sandwiches, if that sounds all right, and we can talk. I don't know how much time you have?"

"I don't have anywhere to be," he said, "but I should call Kurt."

"With… your permission… I'll call him myself. You don't have a parent signature on file, and since you're not eighteen, we prefer you have an authority figure who is aware of your presence here, though your actions are considered to be confidential. I didn't think you wanted Finn notified?"

Puck looked away. "Not really." _Not that he would care._ "Yeah, you can call Kurt."

"Thank you," he said. "If you're comfortable here, I'll have Angela bring the food up here. It's warmer up here."

"Uh," said Puck, not sure how to ask this question, but it had been nagging at him for too long. "How… don't you get _paid_ for this?"

"It's been taken care of," Dr. Howell said smoothly.

Puck blinked. "Who…?"

"Don't worry. Finn handled everything. You have essentially as much time as you need, as long as you come during business hours. I'm not usually here on the weekend, but we'll consider this to be an exception, given your distress."

_Finn? _Puck wondered where he'd gotten the money for this. It couldn't have been cheap. But he felt warm inside, knowing… knowing he'd thought of it in advance, had cared enough to plan ahead. Had found a way to… to care for Puck, like this, even if he couldn't do it himself.

Suddenly he was crying, stumbling, and Dr. Howell was there, his arms strong and supportive and Puck was _so fucking tired _of feeling like this. "I can't," he begged, grabbing big handfuls of Dr. Howell's shirt. "I can't wait. Please – god, I can't…"

"All right." One arm was under his arm, the other holding him up, steering him, practically carrying him toward one of the doors around the octagonal room. "We'll do this first." Now his voice was hard and stern. "You've got a lot to answer for, young man."

"God," Puck said again, and this time it was with relief, anticipation, and no little amount of fear. The adrenaline hit his bloodstream like a rocket. He let Dr. Howell open the door and manhandle him inside, onto the wooden chair that sat in the middle of the room. He stood in the doorway, and the stern expression had saturated his face, his eyes, which made Puck cringe and consider begging him to _stop_ now.

"I'm going to give you a set of very specific directions," he said, "and I want you to follow them _very carefully._ Any deviation from the directions will result in a more intense punishment. Are you clear?"

"Yes, sir," Puck immediately. Dr. Howell nodded once.

"Take off your sweatpants, but leave your underwear on. Make it quick. In the drawer of that desk, you'll find a choice of tools. You decide which one you need. When you're done, take the tool and sit back down in the chair and wait for me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," he said again, trembling, trying hard to commit the whole thing to memory.

He nodded again. "I'll be back in under five minutes, and I expect you to be ready."

As soon as Puck was alone in the room, he stripped off his sweatpants and threw them in the corner. The excitement gathered inside him, tenuous, making him leap ahead, his desire ratcheting up several notches. He stopped short when he saw what was in the drawer, but after a moment he reached inside and took the wooden paddle in his hand. Puck touched it for a long time, running his hand over the smooth wood, polished naturally from what appeared to be years of use, but he put it back. There was a small leather paddle, too, and a long thin stick-like item, but he bypassed them all.

Instead he took out the leather flogger, letting the tails slither through his fingers and onto the edge of the desk. They felt soft, but not too soft. Puck glanced around the room once, then swung the flogger, hard, onto his own thigh. _Ouch._ He winced, then looked with interest at the faint red marks left behind. _Different. _

Puck glanced back into the drawer, feeling a little like a kid in a candy store. A very dangerous candy store. But he also was conscious of the time, and he regretfully closed the drawer before sitting back in the chair, the flogger on his knees. He stroked the tails with two fingers. He was already half-hard. _How could this _not_ be sexual?_

With anticipation and a sense of unreality, he waited, for what_ had_ to be longer than five minutes. _You're waiting in a chair for some guy you barely know to come and beat the everliving crap out of you. What the hell?_ But he also heard Dr. Howell's voice in his head, very kind, very assured: _There's nothing wrong with needing that._ He _did_ need it, even if he wasn't sure why, even if it sometimes seemed like insanity. He knew himself well enough by now to know that much, at least. He thought of his little girl, so clear in the memory of his dreams. _There's not much that _is_ sane about my life these days._

When Dr. Howell came back, Puck was still in the chair, and his eyes were wide open. Dr. Howell didn't comment about Puck's choice of implement. He closed the door, then walked to stand across from Puck. There was no trace of a smile on his face.

"_Noah Aaron Puckerman."_

Puck couldn't help himself – he _flinched,_ and for a moment, he had a crazy sense of vertigo, of being the one standing before someone else while his name was spoken in _just_ that deep, warning tone. "S-sir," he said hesitantly.

"You will look at me while I am addressing you, boy."

His eyes shot up to the doctor's, willing himself not to panic. He did not look kind; he did not look angry, either. He looked like he could see inside of Puck's secret heart, and see every lie. This wasn't Finn, his best friend for eight years, or Kurt, taking care of him. This was _justice,_ come to exact penance for his misdeeds.

"I – I'm sorry," he said.

"You'd better be," said Dr. Howell. "Get up."

Puck scrambled to his feet, and though he faced the doctor directly, he somehow felt smaller, less than, and it was hard not to get right down there on his knees. Puck felt a rush of heat wash over him, leaving him flushed and trembling. He looked away, and seconds later Dr. Howell moved, his hand flashing out, and landed a loud, hard _smack_ on his behind through the thin fabric of his boxers.

"_Eyes up,"_ he commanded, and Puck stared at him, feeling his chin already wobbling.

"You've made some bad mistakes, boy," he said, still loud and firm and terrifying. "Isn't that right?"

"Yes – yes, sir," he whispered.

"I could make a list, just from what you've told me this morning. But let's start with what happened _today._ You came here, wanting something." The doctor's eyes bored into him, and he felt uneasy.

"Is… you told me there was nothing _wrong_ with that," Puck said, sounding indignant. The hand flickered out, quick as lightning, and Puck made an involuntary noise as he hit him right on top of the spot where the last stroke had landed.

"Speak when you're asked a question, and not before. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," he said. Dr. Howell pointed an accusing figure at him.

"You have a young man at home who cares about you very much, with whom you have no argument, and who has done nothing to deserve your treatment of him."

"W-what?" he said, before he could think, then cried out as the hand landed a third time, and already he felt like the skin of his backside was on fire, just from those three swats. _He's strong,_ Puck thought with increasing horror. _He's really, really strong._

"_When you're questioned._ Did you even _think_ about going to Kurt with this?"

"He – he's too – he's not going to –" He cringed at Dr. Howell's unchanging, unflinching stare. "Yes, sir, I thought of it, but I –"

"You decided he couldn't give you what you needed. _You_ decided. Who's in charge here?"

"You are, sir," Puck said, closing his eyes for one second before remembering, and wrenched them back open. It was excruciating, worse than the feeling of the flogger on his thigh, much worse, to be stared at so accusingly.

"But at _home,_ who's in charge? I have clients who come here who have no one. You _do,_ but you came here anyway. What does that say about your respect for Kurt?"

"Uh… " He felt the desperate guilt, so overwhelming, and he hadn't even realized… "It says I don't… I don't think much of him, I guess." At one look, he added, "Sir."

Dr. Howell nodded sternly. "Today, we are dealing with that, and _only_ about that. You disrespected the young man in charge of you. He offered you his care, and then _you_ decided when you didn't need it. That is not acceptable behavior, boy." He came to sit on the wooden chair, holding out his hand. "Give that to me."

Puck held up the flogger, awkwardly turning it so the handle faced him, and the doctor clasped it firmly in his left hand. He pointed to the floor immediately beside him to his left. "Stand right here, right next to my leg."

He hesitated a moment before moving so close, but he knew it would be worse if he didn't, so he swallowed and stepped in, the hair on his knee brushing Dr. Howell's jeans. The doctor pointed again. "Lean over and touch the floor, right here."

Puck was extraordinarily conscious of how hard he was as he bent at the waist over Dr. Howell's knee, pressing against his thigh, but Dr. Howell didn't comment or even seem to notice. His arm supported Puck as he bent over, but then he let him dangle awkwardly on the precarious surface. He reached under and grasped the hem of Puck's boxers, and neatly drew them down, baring his bottom. No bed here to lie on, nothing to brace himself against, as Finn had done for him. No comfort; just the room and the chair and Dr. Howell himself, warm and solid and _fucking terrifying._

"I'm sorry, I'll – I'll talk to Kurt, it won't – _ow!"_ The last was wrenched out of him as Dr. Howell's hand came down a third time, _much_ harder than before.

"Yes, you will. But right now, you'll answer to _me,_ do you understand?"

"Yes sir," he said. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry only goes so far if you can't bring yourself to face up to your misdeeds, boy. Because this is about a specific incident, you'll choose a number. How many do you deserve?"

_I don't deserve anything,_ he thought miserably. "I don't know, sir." This time the hand hit three times, in quick succession, each time a little harder. "I don't know!" he protested. "I don't!"

"Yes, you do," he said. "If you came to me, to ask for your punishment, you already know what you deserve. Tell me."

Puck let his eyes close. "Um…" He let his mind go, to the imaginings in his head, the secret longings he'd been waiting to have fulfilled for too long, too long, and he chose a number. "Nine."

"Nine." Puck felt a hand on his back, and he jerked forward, but Dr. Howell held him steady. For a moment, there was nothing. And then the flogger snapped, and he opened his mouth and _yelled_,because _oh my god oh my god,_ it hurt. It really, really hurt.

By the third stroke his skin was on fire, and he didn't know how he could possibly withstand six more. "Stop," he cried, "no, wait, just stop for a second – _fuck –"_

"You know how to get me to stop," Dr. Howell said, and he brought the flogger down again, and again. The burn was unbelievable. Puck had been in fistfights and he'd been beaten by his dad and he'd been spanked by two different people, but this was beyond imagining.

"I think – I think I'm going to be sick," he warned, and felt the impact again. It went through his whole body, the pain, the wrenching, driving pain.

"It's normal," Dr. Howell said quietly. "Don't be concerned. You're not in control here. You can make as much noise and as much mess as you have to. There's no one to hear, there's no one to see. It's just you and me, and I'm in charge."

Puck felt the agonized fear burning in his throat, and Dr. Howell said, sharply, "_Stop it," _and the flogger landed on his skin again, and what came out of his mouth was not bile, nor words, but was a horrible, scared scream.

"That's it," said the doctor, and Puck fell into that tiny bit of encouragement, struggled to comply. He stopped trying to be what he was supposed to be, stopped trying to be good enough, stopped trying to be _anything,_ and just let himself rage and howl.

"Yes…" Dr. Howell said. "That's a good boy."

"Oh, god," he sobbed, collapsed on Dr. Howell's knee. "Oh… _god."_

And then it was over. The absence of sensation on his behind was astonishing. He felt like he might be floating, hovering in the air, until Dr. Howell put his hand on Puck's back and pressed, saying in a quiet voice, "It's okay now, you're done with that," and he lay there, his head hanging down, crying.

Dr. Howell's hands were on his back, stroking him, and then they lifted him up, letting Puck's arms come around his neck, holding him in a comforting embrace. _He was warm,_ Puck thought in his haze, _he was warm and his chest and god, his mouth, _and he found himself kissing him, moaning against his skin, but Dr. Howell firmly pushed him away, saying, "That's enough."

"Fuck, I'm – I'm sorry," Puck said, horrified. He put his hand on his mouth, suddenly very aware of his erection again, wishing he could cover that up, too.

"That's normal, too," said the doctor patiently. He sounded calm and kind again. The scary voice was gone. "I know that's part of your relationship with Kurt. It's okay. You don't have to feel bad about it." He put a hand on Puck's neck, that firm pressure feeling familiar and calming. Puck took a shuddering breath.

"That's it," said Dr. Howell, helping him to his shaky feet. "That's very good." As he stood, he set the flogger back in the drawer, then took Puck by the arm and let him lean on him. "Pick up your shorts and sweatpants and come with me. Angela has sandwiches waiting in the recovery room."

The recovery room turned out to be three doors down on the right. It was just a warm, comfortable room with a bed, a couch and some chairs. A plate of sandwiches sat on a low table. Dr. Howell eased him down on the bed, on his side, then drew a warm, thick blanket up to his neck. He crouched down in front of Puck, even with his face, and stroked his back until he stopped shivering.

"How do you feel?" he said softly.

"I feel… " Puck took stock of himself, listening to his pounding heart, his clear head, his loose muscles, and breathed again. His backside pulsed and throbbed. "Better," he said. "A lot better. Sir."

"Good. Can you eat?"

Puck could smell the sandwiches, and realized suddenly that he was starving. "Yeah." He propped himself up on his arm – there was _no_ way he was going to try sitting up yet – and took the sandwich the doctor handed him. It tasted incredible, better than anything had tasted in days.

"You're going to feel shaky for a while," said Dr. Howell, seating himself on the bed and moving the covers away. Puck felt a soothing coolness on his burning backside, and he hissed a little. "This is arnica, for the bruises. I didn't break the skin, so they should disappear in a few days."

"I don't usually bruise too bad," Puck said. "But that was a hell of a lot harder than I've had it before."

The doctor nodded. "Have you considered asking Kurt for more?"

"It's not like that with us," Puck said, but he immediately thought of the first time Kurt had done that to him, had put him over his knee in Puck's bedroom. It seemed like such a long time ago. "I suppose I could ask. He's pretty small, though."

"He needs a tool. I'll speak with him." He smiled at Puck's groan. "What is it?"

"It's funny how I know I need… this, but it's so hard to ask for."

"I imagine it's especially difficult when you're in the moment of needing it," said Dr. Howell, his calm, stroking hand smoothing the cream over the abrasions on Puck's skin. Puck closed his eyes and tried not to think about the sensations he was feeling elsewhere on his body. Then Dr. Howell's touch vanished, and when Puck opened his eyes, he was by the door.

"Eat the other sandwich, then get dressed and come downstairs when you're ready. Take your time. You'll want to drink water; there's some in that cupboard." He looked stern momentarily. "You'll go home and talk to Kurt about this, and remember what I said. Don't be afraid to ask for what you need."

"Yes, sir," Puck said quietly.

Dr. Howell paused for one moment in the doorway. "Tell me, Puck… how old were you when your dad left?"

"Nine," said Puck.

The doctor nodded to himself, and closed the door quietly behind him.

Puck stared at the wall across from the bed, where an abstract painting hung, its red and orange hues evoking a sunset. He felt so much clearer, cleaner. The bath had washed his skin, but the punishment had absolved him of something else, something he couldn't define.

_That flogger…_ He shuddered at the memory of each stroke on his skin, and he found himself reaching for his cock, fisting it roughly as he thought of Dr. Howell saying _it's just you and me, and I'm in charge._ It took less than thirty seconds before he was gasping and coming onto the sheets. He felt a little guilty about that, and a little embarrassed because Angela would probably have to clean it up, but he figured if it was really so normal, other guys might have to do that, too, after they'd been spanked.

When he came downstairs, he brought the sheets with him, and Angela didn't even comment, just took the bundle of linens from him. "Don't forget to drink some water," she said. "It's a stress on your body; you'll need the extra fluids. Dr. Howell's in his office."

"Thanks," he said, smiling at her. She smiled back.

"I'm glad we were here," she said. "We're usually closed on Saturday, but he had a visitor from out of town."

"I'm glad, too," he said. "Funny how I can say that when my ass is hurting like hell."

"Funny," she agreed.

As he was walking back to Dr. Howell's office, he passed a beautiful dark-haired woman in the hall, on her way out. She didn't look at him as she passed, and she'd obviously been crying. The doctor's face was sober and thoughtful when Puck entered.

"That woman," he said to Dr. Howell, passing on the chance to sit, and instead leaning against the wall next to the bookcase. "Was she okay?"

"She'll be fine." Dr. Howell sharpened his gaze. "You need to remember that people you see here are part of your confidentiality agreement. The only person you may speak to about what goes on here is Kurt, and Finn, when you two are talking again."

"You think we will be?" he said doubtfully. "Speaking again, I mean? I don't really know."

"It's possible," said the doctor. "Do you want to talk about what happened, between the two of you?"

"Not really," Puck admitted. "I think I'm kind of done for today." He glanced at the floor. "I'm sorry, about what I did… about the kiss. That was –"

"Don't mention it," Dr. Howell said easily. "Just because it's not part of our arrangement doesn't mean it's not a natural response. Many people find that kind of intense stimulation to be erotic." He raised an eyebrow. "Another reason why you'll want to talk to Kurt when you get home."

"I kind of took care of it already," he said. Dr. Howell laughed.

"Well, I guess I remember being sixteen." He rose and handed Puck a tube of cream. "This is some more of the homeopathic arnica; I find it works well for helping heal bruises and abrasions. If it irritates your skin, you can try some vitamin K cream from the drugstore."

Puck nodded, studying the tube. "Can I… can I ask you another question?"

"Of course."

He paused. "That first day. When I came in, and you… you did things to me. You made me… stand a certain way, and behave… and you talked to me, like…"

Dr. Howell waited while Puck wrestled with the words. After a moment, the doctor said, "You're wondering about the role of a submissive here."

"I just… I've been thinking about it a lot. And sometimes… I think I might want that." His voice was just a whisper now. "Sometimes it's too much, but other times, I want… it would be…."

"I understand," said Dr. Howell. "That kind of intense submission is a powerful experience. I've provided that for so long, I forget sometimes that subs might want it any other way." He considered Puck gravely. "I can offer you that, if you wish."

"I'm… I'm not sure," he said.

"It will always be consensual," he said. "Don't think for a minute that you have no control. In the moment, you are giving up yourself, your identity, even – but it is always your choice to do so. Safe, sane, consensual – the three hallmarks of a healthy experience."

Puck offered his hand, and, after a moment, Dr. Howell shook it. "Thanks again," Puck said. "I'll be back."

"Talk to Kurt, first," Dr. Howell reminded him. "I suspect you're going to need to ask him for some discipline, once your backside is feeling a little better."

"I think you're right," he said, grimacing, and Dr. Howell's answering smile was sympathetic. _He knows what this is like,_ Puck thought, _because Lady Tess does it for him. _He thought about this on the way out to his truck, sitting gingerly on the very edge of his buttocks on the seat. Kurt had given him discipline of this kind; he'd talked about doing it for Kurt in return. The idea didn't seem so crazy, though the concept of providing it for _Finn_ was almost inconceivable.

He thought about the dark-haired boy in the club, and the flogger, and there was an answering tingle in his legs and ass and groin. _Not sexual. _He snorted, turning the key in the ignition. _What a crock. It's like saying zabaglione made with eight eggs instead of ten is low fat. _But he got why Dr. Howell had to do it that way, to keep it legal and safe for his business – and he probably wouldn't be interested in some kid like him, anyway.

_Just as well, _he thought, as he drove back to Kurt's house. _I've got enough fucking guys; I don't need another one._


	23. Chapter 23

Kurt paced across the basement, past the green couch and around it, and back over to the door to the garage, over and over, while he waited for Puck to call. It wasn't even so much that he couldn't handle the idea of Puck at Dr. Howell's. It was that he didn't _understand_ why Puck hadn't come to him first. Maybe there was something he'd done - or _not_ done -

He was wringing his hands and contemplating calling Mercedes when the door opened, and Puck stepped inside. Kurt let out a huge breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding: Puck looked a thousand times more like himself. _Whatever Dr. Howell had done, it had worked._

Puck came right over to Kurt and put his arms around him, without hesitating. "I'm a shit," he said. "Going there without telling you - that wasn't fair to you. I didn't even realize what I was doing, but Dr. Howell helped me see it."

Kurt hugged him back. "I'm the one who should be apologizing. Thanksgiving, I was so wrapped up in my own plans for cooking that I didn't listen to what you wanted_._ And you – you saved the day by bringing in dinner, and I barely said one thing about it."

"God, Kurt," Puck whispered into his hair. "I'm so sorry I didn't tell you about the baby."

"I'm sorry, too." Kurt didn't even realize he was crying until he felt the tears on his own cheeks. Puck pulled back to look at him.

"What is it?"

"What… Noah, what _isn't _it?" Kurt's laugh was bitter. "You and Finn… the baby… the debacle at Sectionals…"

"We won," Puck pointed out.

"True." Kurt pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes. "I'm just not sure how much more of this drama I can handle."

Puck's face was sober. "Kurt... I've kind of got a lot of drama. I mean, look at me. I just went to a guy I barely know and –"

"Shhh," Kurt shushed him, motioning frantically. "My _dad's_ upstairs."

"See what I mean? I don't want to get you in trouble with your dad just because of what _I_ fucking need."

Kurt shook his head. "I need it too, Noah," he insisted. "You have no idea what… what it does to me to give you that." His hand stroked down Puck's back. "But I don't understand... why didn't you come to _me?_ You don't _need_ to go to Dr. Howell."

"I did, though," he said. "I couldn't face you. I could barely face him. I felt too bad about everything, about letting you down." He sighed. "He told me I had to tell you about it and… ask you. For a punishment. So here I am. I'm asking."

Kurt blinked and looked around wildly. "Right – right now?"

"Well, no. I don't think I can handle it right now," Puck admitted. "My ass is pretty fucking sore."

Kurt's hand went automatically to Puck's perfect round ass, and Puck flinched at even the lightest touch. "Can I see?" Kurt said, almost not wanting to. They went into Kurt's room and he let Puck take down his own sweatpants, and Kurt swallowed.

"Noah," he whispered, touching the blistered flesh.

"Kurt, no – it's all right," he said. "It's okay. I did need this. I needed it hard, like this… and that's part of what I couldn't –"

"Baby," choked a voice, and they both whipped their heads around to see Finn, wide-eyed, there in the doorway. His face went white when he saw the bruises on Puck's skin.

"Shit," he swore, and stormed off the way he'd come. They heard the garage door slam.

"I'll go after him," Puck said.

"No - I'd better go." Kurt moved quickly into the family room and through the garage to the driveway. Finn was already getting back into his car. "Finn – wait!"

Finn sat in the driver's seat, gritting his teeth, the door ajar. "You didn't tell me _he_ was going to be here," he said, his face pained. He looked like a cornered animal, showing the whites of his eyes.

"I didn't know," said Kurt. "Finn – do you really want our family drama all over the street? Come inside. This is ridiculous."

Finn hesitated, then nodded. Puck was waiting by the green couch.

"Can we sit down and talk?" Kurt looked between the two of them. "Please."

"Looks like _somebody_ won't be sitting down for a while," Finn said, glaring at him. Puck flushed, avoiding Finn's eyes. Kurt sighed in frustration.

"Now come on, you two need to _stop this,"_ he snapped. "Finn, that's just cruel. You know better than that. This is _Puck._ Your best friend. You've always been able to forgive him before."

"Yeah, well, maybe I'm sick of being lied to," Finn shot back. Kurt could almost see Puck retreating further into himself, reknotting the ropes of tension that the discipline had untied.

"Fuck this; I'm going home," said Puck to Kurt. "I need to pick up more clothes. I'll call you later." He gave Finn a contemptuous look and headed for the door.

Kurt's last silent appeal to Finn to do something came a little too late. The garage door slammed, and Finn's face fell.

"Well, _that_ was useful," Kurt said, his lips tight. He wheeled on Finn. "You – what the hell was that for? Since when do you _make fun_ of him for needing this?"

"Maybe he doesn't really need it," Finn burst out. "Maybe he just _thinks_ he does. Maybe it's really about his dad and how messed up he is from that. Maybe – maybe this isn't good for him at all."

Kurt's phone rang, but he ignored it. Finn rested his head in his hands and sighed heavily. It was like all the steam had gone out of him; he was limp and forlorn. Even through his anger, Kurt couldn't help but feel bad for him. He touched Finn's arm, but Finn wasn't letting him anywhere close. Eventually he gave up.

"I'll be upstairs," he said, "when you're ready to talk." Finn nodded, eyes still downcast, slumped on the green couch. It was painful for Kurt to see, but he didn't know what else to offer.

Kurt checked his phone as he trudged up the stairs. It was Mercedes. "Hi," he said.

"Don't sound so excited," she said, teasing. "I mean, we _only_ just won sectionals."

"I know." Kurt found that he couldn't even muster up a smile for his best friend. "Life's kind of complicated right now."

"Talk to me," she cajoled. "Come on. You've been cagy for days. Is it about the fight?"

He wandered disconsolately into the kitchen, and though he wasn't even hungry, he opened the fridge and stared at the food on the shelves. "It's that, but… it's more than that. Everything that made sense is falling apart, and… well, Finn doesn't handle that well. He needs a distraction – something to be responsible for." His lips twitched. "Maybe I should get him a puppy."

"_Kurt…"_

"Just kidding."

"How about a project, then? That's why I was calling. Kurt, this thing with Mr. Schue and Toby… something's happening there, right? I mean… Toby's gay. Right?"

Kurt was scornful. "You have to ask?"

"Right. But Mr. Schue… I always thought he was straight. But he's not, is he?"

He hesitated, because Mercedes was his best friend, but… he'd promised not to talk about it. "I don't know," he said. He certainly wasn't going to tell Mercedes about the misunderstanding about Mr. Schue and the song; he felt completely ridiculous about it already. But Mercedes went on, as though he hadn't spoken.

"So now Mr. Schue is single, right? And Toby's… well, he's awesome. Way better than Mrs. Schue was."

Kurt had to agree. "Okay… your point?"

"We need to sing Mr. Schue something. Just a little nudge. A song - a ballad, for _them_. Will you help us with it? Rachel – well, she had some ideas, but I think I might kill her if it's just the two of us. You can bring Finn. Hell, bring Puck too. Something to take their mind off things?"

"Maybe," he said. "It couldn't make things worse. If it's for Mr. Schue, they might do it."

When he went back downstairs and asked him, Finn was willing, if not enthusiastic. "Mr. Schue helped me to be a leader at sectionals," he said. "He deserves my thanks."

Puck, on the other hand, was absolutely against it until Kurt reminded him over the phone, "You said Mr. Schue needed us - you and me. I think you were right."

"I was?" said Puck, taken aback. That was enough to get him to agree to meet them at Rachel's. "I can't promise I won't bug out early," he warned them. "Rachel's still on my not-at-all-favorite-people list. I'll see you over there after I stop at my Ma's."

Kurt straightened his back and mustered as much enthusiasm as he could scrounge up. _For Mr. Schue,_ he said, _and for us._

* * *

><p>Sarah was doing something with graphs and spreadsheets on the computer in the family room when Puck got there. She gave him an anxious smile, but didn't stop working. "Hey, Noah."<p>

"Meemee's not here?" he said. It was a little weird to hear himself say that name, after choosing it to be his safe word with Dr. Howell, even if he hadn't used it. _Maybe I'd better start calling him Timothy. _"Where'd he go?"

"Grocery run," she said, her eyes on the screen. "I'm doing all the cooking now. You'd totally be proud of me."

"I always am, squirt," he said, squeezing her shoulder, then pointed at the screen. "What's this all about?"

"Extra credit for math. I got really behind when Ma made me move back home. Timmy's a terrible math tutor, no matter how good his grades were. He can't teach worth shit."

"That's why he's an engineer," he said. "He doesn't have to talk to anybody. And you can call me for math stuff any time, you know. Kurt can help, too, and Burt. Just 'cause you're not over there all the time anymore doesn't mean you can't lean on them."

She looked up into his face, then, and her eyes hardnened. "What's going on with you and Finn?"

"We had a fight. A bad one." He didn't like the way she was looking at him. "I lied to him about the baby, and he tried to kick my ass. I don't know if he's going to get over it anytime soon."

"But he's still your boyfriend, right?"

"I don't know." Puck tried to sit down before he remembered the mess that was his ass, and changed his mind mid-sit. Sarah gave him a funny look, but didn't comment. "He might not be around for a while."

"That sucks," she said. Puck nodded agreement. "Everything's okay with Kurt, though?"

"It's okay," he answered. "Not awesome. We're working through it though."

She stood up and slipped under his coat, hugging him. "Watch the – watch it," he warned, shifting her hands up higher with a wince.

"Are _you_ okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, I just had a – I'm just sore," he said lamely.

"Not that. Inside. You're okay?"

"Better," he said, leaning his head on her hair. It was really getting long now, past her shoulders. The last time she'd had it long, she'd been in second grade, with braids. He'd always been the one to braid her hair, back then. "How's Ma?"

"I think she's better, too," she said, muffled in his shirt. "She hasn't yelled at us in a while. You want to see her?"

"I thought maybe I'd stop in for a little while. I can't stay long, though. I have to pick up my stuff from Finn's, and then go do this thing for Mr. Schue and Toby."

"Toby? Who's he?"

"Later," he promised. "Long story."

She looked up at him reproachfully, scooting back in her office chair. "Noah… this thing with Finn… you need to figure this shit out. You _need_ to. He's way too important. Finn –"

Puck knew what Sarah thought about Finn. "I don't think I get a say in this, squirt. Not this time. I just need to wait it out."

Her gaze sharpened to a glare. She poked him in the chest. "No way. You need to apologize and _keep _apologizing until he starts talking to you again."

"_What?"_ He stared at her in disbelief, taking a step away. "Sarah – what the fuck? _He's _the one who kicked _my_ ass."

"You can take it," she insisted. "And he's done it before. You know what he _means._ It's just another messed up way he says he loves you. Can't _he_ be fucked up sometimes, too? We're not the only ones who get to make mistakes."

Puck chewed on his lip, agonizing. He did know what she meant. But he had to shake his head. "No. I mean, yes, he can make mistakes, but… not _that _one. It's too close to the way Dad was with me. So, yeah, I can say sorry for what I did, but he has to step up and do it too."

Sarah looked almost as miserable as he felt. "I just don't think he's going to," she said.

"I know," he said softly. He felt like he was letting her down somehow, but he knew he'd be letting himself down way worse if he accepted what Finn had done. He kissed Sarah's head, then went to find his Ma.

She was eating a cup of white soup and staring at the television in her room, and she didn't even look surprised to see him. "Can you believe this weather?" she groused, indicating the screen. "They say twelve inches of snow tomorrow and six more the next day. You'll have to get the snowblower out of the garage."

"Sure, Ma," he said, seating himself gingerly in the chair next to her. She glanced at him only briefly before taking another bite of soup. He pointed at it. "What's that?"

"Potato garlic," said Ma. "Sarah made it a couple days ago. Better the third day, you know."

He grinned. "I know." She held out a spoonful for him to try, and he tasted. "Not bad. Could use more cream."

"Doctors are getting on me about my cholesterol," she said, waving a hand. "Not that diet has all that much to do with it. Anything they can control, they try to."

He looked at her sideways. She'd lost a little weight. "Nothing new from the doctors?"

"Nothing," she agreed. "More tests this week. They just have no fucking clue what's going on."

"I'm sorry, Ma."

She gave him a funny look. "It's not _your_ fault."

"I don't mean it like that. I just mean – it sucks that you have to deal with this." He felt a little uncomfortable about her saying _it's not your fault. _He thought it might have been the first time that she'd ever said that to him.

She dug down into the soup and found the potato chunks at the bottom. "How'd your competition go? For Glee? That was yesterday, right?"

"Yeah," he said, bemused. "We, uh, we won."

"Congratulations."

"You'd never have guessed we would, from what was going on beforehand." He explained briefly about the other choirs stealing their music. Ma was completely appalled. She slammed down her mug of soup with a bang on the table.

"What hell kind of example do they think they're setting for these kids by lying and cheating?" she exploded. "I hope that's not the kind of thing your Mr. Schue is telling you gets you ahead in show business."

"No - no, not at all," he assured her.

The offended look she gave him wasn't for him, and he knew it. "Well, _that's_ good to hear, at least. Because, let me tell you, there's plenty and enough loose morals among musicians for you not to have to go looking for more."

Puck wasn't going to get into how his own morals might or might not be loose. Most of the time they just felt like they were in a completely different universe than most people's morals, like there was no way _anybody_ was ever going to understand his perspective on things like love and sex and shit like that - especially not his Ma. "Mr. Schue's big on morals," he said. Then he thought about Toby, and how it turned out Mr. Schue had been screwing around, cheating on his wife. _Maybe he's not as big on them as he says he is._

Her glare had mellowed a little, but she wasn't going to let up that easily. "That Glee business, Noah," she said, like she was talking about an embarrassing incident. "Do you _really_ have to –"

"Yeah, Ma," he said, irritated. "I do."

She grumbled, but backed down, seeing him defending the activity. "Since when are you a _joiner?"_

He stared her down. "Since it made me feel part of something bigger. Since I got to do that, with – with my friends." He was a little too raw to talk about how Glee had begun because of _Finn. _Ever since that day in September when he'd watched Finn in the auditorium with Rachel and Kurt and Artie, singing and dancing their stupid hearts out to Don't Stop Believin', and he'd stormed off – okay, he'd even fucking _pouted_ about it, because _those Journey songs were theirs, his and Finn's, _and he was going to be damned if anybody else was going to take them away from them – ever since then, he'd known he wanted to join Glee. And then after he'd sung with Mr. Schue and Finn in the Acafellas, he was sold. Not football, not Rachel Berry, not a stupid fucking argument with Finn was going to keep him from that.

"Forget it," she sighed. "I don't want to argue about it."

"It's okay, Ma," he said. "I'm doing Glee. It's just part of things now." _Like me and Kurt and… yeah._ And, for a wonder, she didn't complain any further.

He was kind of pleased about the way things had gone with his Ma, and he carried that feeling with him as he drove over to Finn's house. He knew Finn was with Kurt at Rachel's, so there wasn't any risk of running into him there, and he wanted to take this chance to pick up his stuff. It didn't occur to him that he might see anybody else there who mattered – until there was a soft knock on the guest room door, and Carole walked in.

_Shit._ "Hey, Mrs… uh, Carole," he said, rummaging around in the dresser. At least the activity made it easy to avoid her sympathetic gaze. He put his t-shirts in the empty box he'd brought over.

"Hey, Puck," she said. "You're pretty stealthy, sneaking into the house without saying anything. Good thing I noticed your truck in the driveway, or I'd have come in here carrying a baseball bat, thinking you were an intruder."

He froze. "Oh – man, I'm sorry, I didn't –"

"It was a joke, Puck," she said, sitting on the edge of the double bed. "You're always welcome here. You don't have to take your things anywhere."

"I kind of do," he said. "I don't think Finn or I can handle staying under the same roof right now. I barely know how I'm going to manage Glee rehearsal."

She smiled faintly. "Glee rehearsal, already? Isn't this the day _after _your competition? I seem to recall even God rested on Sunday."

Puck closed the top drawer and started on the second. "It's this thing Kurt and Mercedes wanted to do for Mr. Schue. He's been, like, under a lot of stress, and he didn't get to see us perform at Sectionals, so we wanted to do something for him, a thank you song." He didn't mention Mercedes' nefarious _get him and Toby together_ plan. Based on what he'd read in that letter, they were pretty fucking _together_ already.

"Puck," she said, and put a hand out to rest on the bed next to her. "Would you stop a minute and sit down?"

Unwillingly, he pushed the box aside and came over to sit by her, not too close. She sighed.

"I wanted to tell you how bad I feel about what Finn did," she said. She touched his shoulder. "Really. It was… unconscionable. He had no right to hit you, and honestly, I don't know what came over him."

_Well, see, Mrs. H, your son and I have this thing where he hits me and I kind of like it._ He didn't think that was going to fly with Carole, but he couldn't help but laugh at the thought. She looked inquisitive. "Would you believe it's a guy thing?" he tried, and she laughed back.

"Maybe," she said. "Me, not being a guy and all, it's hard to know for sure. But I think he feels just as bad about it as I do, and he's not going to say anything because… because he feels so bad, he just can't admit his own guilt. He's ashamed." The look she gave him was so insightful, he squirmed a little. "Do you ever feel like that?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "Definitely. I don't know, though. That's not how Finn's acting like he's feeling. He still just seems pissed off."

"He's mad at himself, Puck. He knows he let you down and he doesn't want to do it again." She hugged her own elbows. For a moment, she looked almost fragile. "Do you think you could forgive him?"

"I –" It was the same question Sarah had asked him a half hour ago, and the answer was, unfortunately, still the same. "I don't think I can," he said, "unless he apologizes too."

She seemed to accept this, nodding. "I don't blame you for that. All I can say is, I'll work on him, okay? And you just hang in there. You're going through so much – I want to help."

Then she reached over and hugged him, and he let her. It was amazing, how good it felt to be hugged by a mother who accepted him just the way he was. He's always known Carole did.

"Thanks," he told her. "You already are."

* * *

><p>"All right, guys, we just need to <em>pick<em> a song," Mercedes moaned, putting her head in her hands. "How hard does this have to be? And Rachel, if you say "Wind Beneath My Wings" _one more time,_ I swear I'm going to throw your karaoke machine through the sliding glass door."

"It's a classic," Rachel protested, but she didn't say any more.

"Well, I think we should do "School Days"," said Artie, making little figure-eights on Rachel's parquet dance floor. At their blank stares, he sighed. "Come on. Chuck Berry? Jesus, did you guys grow up in a freaking cave? That really _is_ a classic. It's all about how music delivers this kid from the boring school days." He lifted his guitar from his lap and strummed a old-style rock'n'roll swing:

_Drop the coin right into the slot  
><em>_You're gotta hear somethin' that's really hot  
><em>_With the one you love, you're makin' romance  
><em>_All day long you been wantin' to dance,  
><em>

_Feeling the music from head to toe  
><em>_Round and round and round we go  
><em>_Hail, hail rock and roll  
><em>_Deliver me from the days of old_

As Artie played the last of the verse, one of the Misters Berry, the one with dark brown skin, ushered Puck down the basement stairs. "Rachel," he called in his deep voice, "your friend is here."

"That's a good song," Tina said, "but I think we should make it more personal. This is about Mr. Schue, and what he's done for us. It's supposed to be a thank-you song. Hi, Puck."

"Hey," he said, not looking at Finn, or Kurt. Instead he came over to Santana and sat beside her and Brittany, who looked like they wished they could be _anywhere_ else on a Sunday night other than Rachel Berry's basement. "So what song are we doing?"

"We haven't picked it yet," Rachel said.

Mr. Berry smiled kindly at Artie. "That sounded great, son. You're a talented group of kids. Wish I could carry a tune in a bucket."

"You and Daddy both," she said, kissing his cheek. "We'll be working on Glee stuff for at least another hour, Dad."

"Not too late," said Mr. Berry to Rachel. "With school tomorrow, let's get everybody out the door by eight thirty. You want me to make some pasta salad for everyoned?"

"Sure," she said. He smiled again and headed back up the stairs.

"Your dad's nice," said Tina. "Mine would never make food for my friends."

"I think he feels guilty that he's gone so much," Rachel confided, leaning on the back of the couch. "His practice is almost as far as Toledo, and he leaves really early in the morning and gets home so late most of the time. He's a therapist, doing grief counseling, and it's pretty stressful."

"I can hear the tiny violins playing, Berry," said Santana with a sigh. "I'm not here to listen to your life story. What song are we doing?"

"Mr. Schue's got a lot of issues," said Brittany. "But he's pretty awesome. He got us ready for sectionals. He's, like, the best dolphin. He's an orca! Isn't there a song about an orca?"

"Hey, we should totally sing that song about how life would suck without him," said Matt, pointing at Mike. "We heard it in the car on the way over. What's that one called?"

"My Life Would Suck Without You," the group chorused, and everyone laughed. Even Finn cracked a smile.

"That might work," said Kurt. He shuffled through the songs on his iPod and plugged it into Rachel's speakers, concentrating on the music, nodding his head and planning the choreography, making little motions as he listened. "We could do a line dance. The ultimate mash-up… an homage to all the performances he's led us through. Everything we've done, together… he's been our leader." He watched Finn stiffen, and pressed on. "Single Ladies."

"The Hair song," Mercedes added, "both of them, Kurt."

"Proud Mary, definitely. Oh, and how about Push It?" Artie laughed. "God, that was embarrassing."

"It's My Life," Mike said. Puck looked at Finn, but his eyes were on the floor. "Remember that song, when we took the Vitamin D?"

"Sure I remember," said Puck softly.

They brainstormed all the numbers they'd performed that year, and Brittany and Mike blocked out a brief routine while Kurt played the song again. "If we're going to do a line dance, we need cowboy hats," said Brittany. "And chaps."

"Uh, Britt," Santana whispered, "I think you may be the only one who has chaps. Let's stick with hats."

Halfway through, Kurt pulled Finn and Puck aside, into the back hallway by the bathroom. "Are either of you going to bail on this?" he said in a low, fierce voice. "Because if you are, I think it would be better for me to know it now, rather than _tomorrow,_ right as we're about to perform."

"Hey, I came back," said Finn, clearly stung.

"I'm in," Puck said. They still weren't looking at each other.

"Good. Because I'm making you stand beside each other. And you're going to have to deal with it. As in smiling, singing, dancing, the whole enchilada. Got that?"

"Yes, sir," Puck said. Finn made a sound that was suspiciously like laughter, except his face was entirely serious.

"I won't interfere when you're directing, Kurt," he said. "I know my place."

Now Kurt looked like he was on the verge of smiling, but instead he deepened his scowl and nodded decisively. "All right, then. Let's go."

Both Finn and Puck were on their best behavior during the entire rehearsal, taking Kurt's cues and letting Brittany and Mike coach them as best as they could. Kurt thought nobody could have been able to tell the boys weren't speaking to one another by watching them – nobody but one who knew them both intimately. There was no friendly touch, no easy interaction. In a way, it felt worse, to have them not arguing or fighting, but also not smiling or teasing. It was as though they were strangers to one another.

Mercedes caught Kurt's eye as he took a moment to himself. "They seem all right," she said.

"They're not," said Kurt, rubbing his brow. "But at least they're not at each other's throats. Come on, let's finish this. At this rate I'm going to need a cup of warm milk, a facial mask and at least three repetitions of "Seasons of Love" before I go to bed."

* * *

><p>When Will walked into the choir room the next day, the entire Glee club, and Brad, were waiting for him. Their faces were serious.<p>

"What's going on, guys?" he asked, hesitating as he set his bag down by the piano.

"Well," said Finn, "we have a few things we'd like to show you, Mr. Schue. The first…"

And then Finn backed away to reveal Artie holding a waist-high silver trophy that would have rivaled any of the ones in the Cheerios case. Will let out a whoop of victory at the sight, and the students cheered along with him. Artie rolled forward, holding aloft the trophy for Will to grasp.

Will shook his head in admiration. "I am so proud of you guys. You won fair and square. The result was unanimous, and the judges didn't even know about all the shenanigans that were going on behind the scenes. So… congratulations." He grinned. "You earned this."

More cheers. "All right!" he said, laughing. "But… now we have Regionals to worry about. And you can bet that Vocal Adrenaline is hard at work, so we should be, too. So, let's get started."

Puck spoke up, surprising Will. He hadn't heard many words from him since that conflict on Friday. "Uh, wait, Mr. Schue." He smiled. "There's one more thing."

"Since you weren't able to be there to see us perform, we put together a special number just for you." Rachel gestured grandly as Finn guided him into a chair. "Take a seat!"

Will felt a rush of affection and pride for the group as they lined up on the risers. They'd come such a long way in these few short months since he'd begun directing the Glee club, this disparate band of unlikely friends. But they clearly cared for each other. Santana was actually _smiling_ at Rachel as Brad struck up the band with a rousing beat. If that could happen, just about anything was possible.

_Guess this means you're sorry  
><em>_You're standing at my door  
><em>_Guess this means you take back  
><em>_All you said before_

_Like how much you wanted__Anyone but me  
><em>_Said you'd never come back  
><em>_But here you are again_

_'Cause we belong together now, yeah  
><em>_Forever united here somehow, yeah  
><em>_You got a piece of me  
><em>_And honestly,  
><em>_My life (my life) would suck (would suck) without you_

Will's face split in a grin as he watched his kids mimic the choreography from previous numbers with witty accuracy. _They're so damn good,_ thought one part of his mind… but the rest was distracted by images of another choreographer, over twelve hundred miles from here, whose own sweet voice could have sung these precise lyrics to him, and who had said similar ones a hundred times before. Will had always listened, but he hadn't really _heard. _

_Baby I was stupid for telling you goodbye  
><em>_Maybe I was wrong for tryin' to pick a fight  
><em>_I know that I've got issues  
><em>_But you're pretty messed up too  
><em>_Either way, I found out I'm nothing without you_

Kurt and Finn and Puck were seated beside each other on the risers, doing a reprisal of the movements from their long-ago manic mashup. Will shook his head to himself in amazement. _To think that they've been – for how long, I wonder? All the way back then?_ And a tiny part of him couldn't help but wonder: _If Kurt and Puck and Finn can manage this, can manage to be - boyfriends, than what does that mean for me?_

_Being with you  
><em>_Is so dysfunctional  
><em>_I really shouldn't miss you  
><em>_But I can't let you go_

He thought about what Toby had said on the phone: _You don't really want a girl. Trust me, try kissing her and you'll see._ Was that really true? He thought he liked Emma a whole lot, might even love her – but was it like the way it was between him and Toby? How could he know for sure? Then he realized this might be his last chance to find out.

The choir wrapped up their rousing performance, and amid praise and thanks, Will was out the door with a quick, "Be right back, okay, guys?" He tore down the hall, into Emma's office – to find it bare. _Gone already,_ he thought, stunned.

But on his way back to the choir room, he spotted her at the other end of the hall. "Emma!" he called, and she looked up.

"Will," she said, and even though he'd been the one running, she was the one who was breathless and wide-eyed. She was as beautiful as he'd ever seen her.

"I didn't – I wanted to tell you something yesterday," he said. "And to give you something, too, if you'll let me. Just once."

"Once?" she said, looking puzzled, but as he stepped forward into her carefully groomed, protected personal space, she understood. "Will…"

Their lips met, and he let himself imagine being with Emma, imagine what it would be like if he and she were together, and if Toby… if Toby…

She broke off with a little gasp, and stared at him in shock. "Will, I thought… Terri –"

"Not Terri," he said. "I left her. I left my wife. She… wasn't who I needed, Emma. She never was." He felt the gentle tingle on his mouth, tasting her lipstick, and marveled at his _complete lack of interest._ "That's what I want to tell you."

"Will," Emma said, with a sad smile. "You're gay."

"I'm – what?" Will's declaration died in his throat, and he found himself choking back the all-too familiar words: _I'm not,_ because, seriously, it wasn't the time, and _what_ had she just said to him?

"If you're not with Terri anymore, good for you," she said. "But I can't let you make the same mistake twice. I'm your friend, Will, but that's all I can be, no matter how much I might… might care for you."

Will's mouth opened and closed on air several times before Emma stepped back and giggled. "Emma," he said at last, astonished. "How – how did you…?"

"Oh, please," she said, her words gentle, hoisting the box she'd been holding higher on her hip. "Seriously?" Her heels made a rhythmic tattoo as she strode down the hall toward her car. "I'll call you tomorrow."

_'Cause we belong together now, yeah  
><em>_Forever united here somehow, yeah  
><em>_You got a piece of me  
><em>_And honestly,  
><em>_My life (my life) would suck (would suck) without you_


	24. Chapter 24

_(Author's note: enormous thanks to knittycat99 for writing Dancer!Toby. The air of authenticity is unmistakable. Also, the house at the end really does exist - though, happily, not really in Ohio - and you can see a picture of it here: http:/ www. flickr. com/photos/nubianamy/6347961410/in/set-72157628009585613 Enjoy! -amy)_

* * *

><p>Toby was already grumpy at being awoken at the entirely uncivilized hour of ten by the sound of stampeding toddlers. Coffee would get him through the morning, which had begun much earlier than he was accustomed to, but he didn't have to like it.<p>

"I had to get up anyway," Toby said, waving a placating hand when Laurie ducked her head in from the hallway to apologize for the noise. "Don' worry your pretty little head over it."

"It's a miracle they left you alone this long," Andi said when Toby came down for breakfast. "They're up at six-thirty every day without fail. This is _your_ genetic material, mind you, so I don't really see how the fuck it's possible."

Biological father or no, the whole experience of staying in a house with two children and three other adults was a little wearing on Toby, who was accustomed to living alone or occasionally with one other person. It was with no small measure of relief that he got into his rental car and drove the two and a half hours through the featureless Ohio landscape to Akron in blissful silence. The snow was just beginning to fall, though he knew it was supposed to get bad later this afternoon.

_Two and a half hours,_ he mused, guiding his car into the visitor parking lot at Carmel High School._ It didn't feel so long. I could drive two and a half hours every weekend, if it meant I could see Will. _It had been difficult to know he was in the same city with him last night and _not_ be with him. He'd even considered stalking him at his new apartment, watching him sleep through the window, Edward-the-vampire-style, but off-stage drama was not really Toby's thing. He was the calm one, the patient one. He could wait this out.

The school facility was new and gleaming; this school was clearly well-funded. Toby felt a little underdressed in his suit jacket and khakis amid all the fashionistas of the student population, but they regarded him with friendly enough smiles in the hallway. He stopped into the office to get a visitor badge.

"I'm looking for Shelby Corcoran," he said, and the secretary spoke over the phone for a moment.

"She's expecting you in the auditorium," she said, giving him a map and showing him the way. "Through to these double doors, across the quad, past the greenhouses to the entrance by the topiary garden."

He came in through the auditorium's back door amid the sound of electric guitars to see a tight formation of dancers performing a dynamic rendition of "Highway to Hell." Before they were even finished with the first verse, though, Shelby, seated in the middle of the auditorium, was on her feet, barking instructions. The kids looked tired, but responded readily to her authority and gave it another enthusiastic try.

"They're good," he said, nodding at the stage, as he threaded his way through the folding seats. She glanced up and frowned.

"They're cocky," she responded. "A win at sectionals means nothing if they can't keep their focus. But they'll get it." She held out her hand and Toby shook it. "Glad you found your way here, Mr. Grey."

"Please, call me Toby," he said. "This feels a lot more like home than I'd expected. My students in Denver know they're expected to dance hard. When the arts are your focus, it's easier to give them your full attention."

"Well, here at Carmel, the arts aren't everything, but they're close." She pointed at the ridiculously expensive lighting system that hung suspended above their heads. "See that? Purchased with booster money. The parents in this community have cash, Toby, and they're not afraid to spend it on their kids. That's why they can afford to hire me – and someone like you. They send them Carmel with the expectation that they'll learn to be winners."

Toby nodded sagely. "Can I put them through their paces?"

"Be my guest," she said, gesturing toward the stage, not even watching for his response. She leaned into the intercom and her voice crackled across to the performing troupe. "Guys. This is Mr. Toby Grey; he's visiting from Denver School of the Arts, where your _real_ competition is waiting for you. He's taught kids who've gone on to be Broadway legends, and he's a household name on the stage himself out in Colorado. Give him your full attention."

The kids paused in their practice, breathing hard, glancing at one another. "You a dancer or a singer?" asked the girl in the front.

"I'm a teacher," Toby said firmly. "You're the dancers and singers here. My job is to help you be the best you can be. Agreed?"

"Sure," said the boy beside her. He shook the sweat out of his wavy dark hair. "Let's go."

"Okay," Toby clapped his hands and examined the teenagers grouped in front of him on the stage. "Show of hands. How many of you have had formal dance classes before?" Better than half raised their hands, and Toby nodded in approval. "Good. So. Let's start with a little warm-up, so I can see where you all are." He waited for them to scatter into places on the stage, and then he hoisted himself up in between the footlights, taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. Taking his position in front of them, he called out the steps as he marked; it wasn't a hard combination, something he used with his intermediate kids at school that blended a little jazz and ballet with some tap at the end. He'd learned over the years that this kind of routine helped a teacher learn a lot about a dancer, formal training or no.

When he was sure that they had the steps down, he handed a CD down to Shelby and waited while she slid it into the player. He walked the kids through it once to the music, and then set them free. He stepped back and watched, clapping his hand on his thigh on the first beat of each measure, calling out corrections and encouragements as the kids moved. The showy wavy-haired boy was in the front, next to a willowy mocha-skinned girl, and the two of them were dancing the hell out of things. Three girls and a boy in the back were struggling a little with the steps, but had good rhythm. The rest of the kids were solid. Nothing spectacular, but solid, with decent technique and a feel for the music.

When they had run the routine twice, Toby clapped his hands again and dismissed them for a brief water and bathroom break. "Be ready when you come back," he called after them, "because we won't be taking another break."

"You're nicer than I am," Shelby said from behind him, handing him a bottle of water over his shoulder. "I don't usually let them take breaks at all."

"They're going to need the water," he said, uncapping the bottle and taking a generous swig. He lifted an eyebrow at Shelby and smiled wickedly. "I'm going to kick their asses. Especially those two in the front. Your stars, I assume."

Shelby nodded. "Jesse and Chandra. Good kids, cocky as all hell, the both of them, though."

"The successful ones always are," he replied. "Now. Tell me, is there any part of your number you're having trouble with?"

"Nothing specific. I was thinking about something epic for Regionals, something to showcase Jesse since he's a senior." Shelby shook her head. "I'm probably crazy, I mean this isn't necessarily the audience for Queen, but it's kind of go big or go home time, you know?" Shelby wrung her hands in front of her chest, and shifted back and forth on the heels of her brown suede boots. "Bohemian Rhapsody."

Toby concealed his surprise with a little nod. "Your boy can sing it, I'm sure."

"Yes. But the dancing... Dakota was stuck in his way of doing things. Don't get me wrong, he helped us win three consecutive national championships, but I need _vision_. I need someone who's seen more of the world than understudy to the candelabra in Beauty and the Beast." She fixed him with a stare. "Do you have _vision_, Toby?"

Toby just cocked his head at her with contemptuous arrogance, and cast out a dismissive hand. "Please. You don't even know from vision. Where's your music?"

Toby waited while Shelby loaded a CD into the player and cued it up, and then he stood at the edge of the stage with his eyes closed, listening and thinking about the kids and the space, and what he could do with the more adagio portion at the beginning of the song. When it transitioned into the faster portion, he spoke crisply to Shelby. "Take it back to the beginning, please."

She did, and he started to move, working with languid movements, stretched limbs and precise turns. There was a lot he couldn't do without a partner, but he marked his way through a series of lifts, and then played with some changes of level by adding in kneeling turns and some simple but showy gymnastics moves. When he was done, he stood again and surveyed the kids, who had gathered back on stage and were watching him with round eyes. "Are y'all ready to give it a try?"

Everyone nodded, but Toby caught the struggling boy from the back wavering over whether to raise his hand or not. Toby smiled at him. "Yes?"

"Mr. Grey, I haven't danced a lot with a partner, and I'm always afraid I'm going to drop her." The boy looked young, or at least he hadn't hit his growth spurt yet.

"Okay. Boys, how many of you are scared you're going to drop your partner?" All of them but Jesse raised their hands. Of course. "And girls, how many of you are terrified of being dropped?" The girls all nodded.

"Good. That's perfectly normal. So," he said, taking Chandra's hand and pulling her out of the group. "Ballet?" She nodded at him. "Good. Pas de deux?"

"Yes, Mr. Grey." She sounded confident, but her eyes were a little nervous. He gave her a dazzling smile.

"Will you dance with me, Chandra? I promise, I won't drop you, darlin'."

"Sure," she breathed, blinking up at him. He smiled to himself. _She'll focus better, at least._

"The first thing," he said, catching all of their eyes, "the most important thing is this: if you start to fall, _let yourself fall_. Don't fight it, because that's when you'll get hurt, and then where will be be? And boys, if you feel your partner going, _let her go_. If you try to catch her, you risk hurting both of you. And again, where would we be?" He got a few nervous laughs at that, and kept on.

"Chandra, do the boys do all the work in lifts?" He tugged her lightly, and arranged himself behind her, in the standard basic lift pose, his feet in fifth position and his hands on her waist.

"No," she said, clearly, as she clasped her hands over his wrists. "The girls have to jump."

He looked at the kids. "She's right. Girls, you have to help your partner. Your velocity from your plie is what helps get you into the air, and it helps your partner keep you there." He whispered into Chandra's ear: _one, two, three_ and he breathed into the squeeze of her hands as she bent her knees. Within a moment he had her airborne and settled on his shoulder, one leg tucked under his arm and the other in a classical pose, her arms over her head and her body steady. He let his arms out in a long-remembered pose, more muscle memory than anything else since it had been years since he'd partnered anyone, and took in the way the kids were staring for a moment before he and Chandra were moving again into a flip and a fish dive before he set her on her feet again. "We're not going to do anything as fancy as that, but when you know how to work together, every one of you _could_ do that, if you wanted to."

"Incredible," he heard Jesse murmur, but he couldn't tell if it was sincere or sarcastic from where he stood.

Toby fixed Jesse with an appraising stare. "Your partner has excellent training. How's yours?"

Jesse blinked at him and took a step back. "Not like _that_," he muttered, and Toby could see that the boy had let his guard down for the first time all day. _Score,_ Toby thought. _Win the star and I can make them do whatever I want._

Toby clapped his hands again, and the kids gathered closer. "Let's learn the basics, shall we?"

Toby spent the better part of an hour on basic lifts, but he also had to rearrange some pairings to make them more appropriate to the student's strengths and weaknesses. Dakota Stanley may have been a good choreographer, but he clearly didn't know from partnering, because the pairings were an utter mess. On the last try, however, even the fumbling boy was moving with confidence, and when they finished his tiny, curly-haired sprite of a partner was grinning at him.

Toby was buzzing from the energy of the group, but his stomach was rumbling, he was exhausted, and he still had an apartment search to begin before making the two and a half hour drive back to Lima. He rubbed his hand over his sweaty face and addressed the kids. "You all did very well today. I think it's time to call it a day, don't you?"

Chandra smiled at him from where she was standing next to Jesse. "Can we do one more, Mr. Grey?"

"Really?" Toby was surprised, because the kids _had_ to be ready to fall over.

"Please!" they all chorused, bouncing and smiling like getting to dance was a treat. He remembered the way he felt at their age, like he would go crazy without the release of movement. _Maybe it _was_ a treat_.

"Okay, okay. I do have a little something, it's a progressive routine. It's going to start out simple and get harder as it goes. Don't worry if you have to stop, it's just something for fun."

"Does the last person standing get a prize?" Jesse jutted his hip out in a confident pose.

"You get to wash my car," Shelby's voice echoed from the middle of the auditorium. "And wax it."

Jesse just shot her a look, and Toby couldn't help laughing a little at their clearly easy relationship. It was the way he felt for his favorite students in Denver. He could already feel himself missing them.

"Y'all ready?" Toby asked, wanting to reign Jesse in before he pulled focus away from the task at hand. At the kids' affirmative noises, Toby nodded. "Good. It goes a little something like this..." He demonstrated the whole routine, and then marked it while calling out the steps. "Good; you guys got it?"

"Yes, Mr. Grey," they chorused in the instant before Toby nodded to Shelby to turn on the music. Toby watched the kids, _really_ watched them now that he had a better idea of their strengths and personalities. He wasn't surprised when Jesse and Chandra moved out in front of the group, but he _was_ surprised when Chandra called out the steps during one of the trickier sequences. _Hm. She may be a star, but she also knows how to be a good leader_.

The stragglers hung in longer than he'd expected, only bowing out when the music picked up tempo, which told Toby that it wasn't the steps that were a problem per se, but their ability to get their brains working fast enough. _Trainable_, he knew. It wouldn't take him long to get them up to the same level as everyone else.

Slowly, though, as the turns and jumps grew more complex, more and more of the kids were stepping back to watch, shouting encouragements to the ones still dancing. As the music entered the last chorus, only Jesse and Chandra were left, which wasn't a surprise at all. But then Jesse got his feet tangled up in the last sequence of jumps, and Chandra finished out the final pirouette combination on her own. He watched her spin, her head whipping around to spot her turns, and even though he'd ended with a different pose her ballet training clearly kicked in because she landed in a triumphant wide fourth position, face alight with triumph. The other kids clapped, and Toby nodded in approval.

"Good girl," he whispered as he walked by her. "Way to stick it out." He was surprised when her arms wrapped around him.

"Thank you," she said into the front of his shirt. "That was wicked fun!"

"You're welcome, darlin'. You've got some talent."

She ducked her head, embarrassed. "It's just what I love to do."

"It shows." He really loved the kids who were modest about their talent, even when it was significant. They were the ones who kept their heads down and worked hard and took everything in like sponges.

"Thanks again," she said, shouldering an overstuffed duffel bag. Toby could see leg warmers and leggings and the tangled mess of pointe shoe ribbons spilling out as she brushed past him and rolled her eyes. "I have to go. I have a test last period. Geometry."

Toby just shrugged sympatheticallyd. He'd always hated math.

Shelby gave him a twisted smile as he slithered off the stage. "Well, Mr. Grey," she said, "you sure seem to have made an impression. The kids responded to you."

"It's what I do," he said, feeling the truth of it in his words. "I love teaching."

"I can tell." She laid the microphone down on the table and held open her hands. "There are two other candidates coming to visit this week, so I can't technically offer you the job until they've been and gone. But - my instinct tells me we've found our dance instructor."

"I still have to run this all by my boyfriend," he said, holding out a hand. "He's the one already livin' here, and he doesn't even know I'm in the state yet. I'll have to let you know."

"You've got a week, Toby," she said, shaking his hand. "If I don't hear from you, I'll assume your boyfriend has you whipped."

"I can't say that ain't a fact already," Toby grinned ruefully. "But I've enjoyed this a whole lot, Shelby, and and I hope to see you again."

Toby found the student Jesse waiting for him by the doors to the topiary garden. "Are you heading out of town right away, Mr. Grey?"

"I thought I'd get some lunch first," he said, "and take a look at some apartments in town."

Jesse smiled at Toby. Toby had had enough lovers to know when a man – or, in this case, a boy – was using his wiles to get what he wanted, and this smile was rife with manipulation. "As it happens, I'm an assistant for Ms. Corcoran during my last period of the day. I imagine you'll be looking for a place to live, and I'd be more than happy to show you around town." His dimples deepened. "We can start in Highland Square. It's the best place to live in Akron, if you're looking to meet other guys."

"Much obliged," Toby said, with an amused nod. "But I ain't looking for other guys. I'm pretty happy with the one I've got."

Jesse held the door open for Toby while he grabbed his coat, his smile not diminished in the least. "Ah, but is he ready for you to move to Ohio, I wonder?"

"That's why I'm fixin' to move here, darlin'. I ain't slumming with suburban midwesterners for my health." He walked ahead of Jesse, making him hurry to catch up with Toby's long stride.

"Sounds like a lucky guy," Jesse said.

Toby smiled. _I sure hope he agrees with you._

* * *

><p>Despite his obvious attempts at flirting, Toby enjoyed talking with Jesse over lunch. Jesse chatted away about his plans for after school, his intention to head for New York as soon as he graduated. "I'm not under any illusions about how hard it's going to be," he said frankly. "I'm sure there's a hundred other guys as good as me who'll be auditioning for the same roles. But I've got a lot going for me." His smile was teasing. "And if you're at Carmel, you can help me brush up on my dancing before auditions start in January."<p>

"You bet," said Toby, setting down his coffee. "I've got a week to convince my boyfriend that he really wants me here in Ohio."

"And why wouldn't he?" Jesse's eyebrow was really quite wicked. "Come on. You're a catch."

Toby sighed. "Will's... well. Closeted would be a kind phrase. _Deluded,_ let's say, into thinking that because I'm the only man he's ever wanted, that somehow makes him _not gay._ Don't get me wrong, he loves me - and we've been together since college. Longer than that, really. I just hope he doesn't freak out."

Jesse nodded over his coffee, clearly wise beyond his years. "What does he do? When he's not freaking out?"

"He's a Spanish teacher, and he directs his own show choir, in Lima."

Jesse stiffened at the mention, but he covered it neatly. Only Toby's attention to musculature and physicality made the action evident to him. "Competition, huh?" Jesse murmured.

"To some degree," Toby nodded. He accepted the bill with a smile and walked up to the counter to pay it; Jesse didn't object, but he didn't expect the boy would.

"Thanks for lunch," Jesse said.

"No problem."

Jesse directed him around to Highland Square, which was apparently the gay mecca in Akron, but Toby wasn't feeling the love in the small city's gay district. Perhaps it was the gray clouds, or the lack of people on the snow-covered sidewalks, but Toby was already missing Denver. _I can't live here,_ he thought, almost desperately, and before he knew it, he was saying, "I'm going to head back. Can I drop you off at school?"

"Okay," Jesse agreed. "It was great to meet you, Mr. Grey. Hope you come back to Carmel soon. Vocal Adrenaline needs you." He inclined his head subtly, and added, "I could use you, myself."

Toby smothered a laugh on his fist. "You're a talented _boy,_ Jesse," Toby said, with a stress on the appropriate word. "Keep your focus on academics."

"Of course," he said, eyes wide and innocent, but Toby wasn't fooled for a second. He pulled into the parking lot of Carmel and shook his head as Jesse sauntered back into the school, clearly putting on a show for Toby's benefit.

It wasn't enough to pull Toby out of his doldrums. All he could see as he drove through town was the featureless landscape, the overcast sky, and a lonely life in Ohio without his friends and community._ What in hell was I thinkin'? _he thought in despair. _How am I going to rebuild that? _

It was about thirty miles west of Akron that Toby pulled off the highway, looking for a gas station. The weathered sign read _Welcome to Westfield Center,_ but as far as he could tell there wasn't much there besides a Speedway, a Starbucks, a McDonalds and a few old farmhouses. The trees were nice, though, and he could see on the satellite view on his phone that there were some lakes nearby. The snow wasn't too bad yet, and he could still navigate the back roads just fine.

It was the sign that read _For Sale - Lakefront_ that sent Toby down the dirt road off County Highway 97, following some unseen lure that drew him as surely as the smell of coffee in the morning. Toby came around a bend - and found himself gazing up a steady slope at a rambling old farmhouse, peeking through the snow-frosted trees. There was a three-car garage tucked off to one side, and behind the house he could see the faint sparkle of water. Across the street was a large lake, not yet frozen over, with a dock reaching out like a long arm into the water.

He parked the car in the driveway and walked slowly toward the house, his shoes crunching in the gravel. The enclosed porch reached all the way around three sides, he could see, and there was a great flagstone fireplace extending from the center of the house. He knew, as surely as though he were standing beside the window, that the fireplace would reside in the center of the room. Walking up and around to the back between the house and the garage, he found a small stone patio with a window peeking in on a long kitchen, and a hammock in a stand of buckeyes, overlooking the pond.

The sign read _For Sale,_ but it was old, and Toby could barely read the phone number painted on the outside. He approached the kitchen door cautiously, and tried it. Locked. Then a voice in his head said, _Where would you leave a key, darlin'?_ Automatically, he reached up and touched the sill above the door - and his hand came away holding metal. He held his breath when he tried it in the lock, but he wasn't too surprised, after all, to discover it fit.

The house was empty, furniture long since moved out, and dusty as all get out, but it seemed in reasonably good repair. There were places where the plaster looked like it could use some help, and the wood trim was old and the floors badly in need of finishing, but the house looked sound. Built-in bookshelves ringed the broad main room, which did indeed have a stone fireplace in the center, facing both the front and dining areas. A staircase pointed upstairs, and Toby peered down another set of stairs into a dark, but dry, basement.

"Hello," he said softly, taking a few steps onto the enclosed porch. "Where have _you_ been all my life?"

On Toby's third try (following two apologies to Mr. Hartmond and Joe's Auto Parts), he guessed enough of the missing phone numbers on the sign to reach the real estate office of Wanda Sherman. She knew right away which property he meant. "On Wolf Lake," she said, startled. "My goodness, we haven't shown anyone that house in a long time. It's gone into foreclosure. The bank's been trying to decide what to do with it."

"I want an appraisal done," he said. "Do you have someone in the area who does that for you? I'm not from around here."

"I'd guessed that from your accent, Mr...?"

"Grey. Toby Grey." He gazed out the front window at the shimmering lake across the street, and smiled in satisfaction. _Yes. This is it. _"I've got a week to make up my mind."


	25. Chapter 25

_(Author's note: this chapter was both easy and hard to write. I've been thinking about it for months, and I was able to write Kurt with Chopin's Nocture on repeat, but the words for Finn didn't come until I sat and listened to Jonathan Groff's amazing rendition of Scott Alan's song Now. Go find it on iTunes, seriously. __Also, if you are reading the Sarah story, 1,000 Sarahs, chapter 2 in that story runs concurrent with this chapter and the next one, so you can read them in either order without spoilers. -amy)_

* * *

><p>Brad had Kurt playing the Chopin's Nocturne No. 20 in C# minor. The new piece was exactly the sort of tune that Kurt could relate to these days: lovely, full of hope, but pensive and mournful.<p>

"Watch this modulation," Brad said, pointing to the second part. "I think most pianists play it too slowly. It's not a particularly fast piece, but there's movement here, and you can't let it slow down too much or you'll get bogged down in the details."

Kurt didn't respond for long enough that Brad had to say, "Kurt?" again. He looked up, startled, then sighed.

"Oh... yeah. Sorry. I'm a little... well, it's been a hard week."

Brad nodded sympathetically to the backdrop of laughing, trampling toddler feet. "Hang on," said Brad, pushing the piano bench out and stepping out into the hallway. "I'm going to send them outside to play while we finish."

"It's not a big deal," Kurt protested, but Brad was already down the hall. He could hear his quiet baritone speaking to the kids - and then a teasing Southern drawl that sounded strangely familiar. He was on his feet and out the door before he realized what he was doing.

"_Toby?" _

"Hey, Kurt." Toby nodded at him, inclining his head towards the practice room. He had Duncan in one arm and Cory was hanging on to the other leg. "Piano lesson?"

Kurt's cheeks cramped with the force of his smile; it felt like it had been a long time since he'd been so happy. "Oh my god," he laughed. "I had no idea you were still in town. This is - does Mr. Schue know you're here?"

"No." Toby lowered his voice. "No, he doesn't. It's kind of a secret."

Kurt frowned. He'd had enough of secrets. He bent down on one knee, eye level with little Cory, and gave her a little wave. "You glad to see your uncle Toby?"

"He's funny," Cory said, finger still in her mouth. Kurt exchanged an amused look with Toby, who rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

"I was just about to have a snack and read a book with these little monsters. You want to finish your lesson? I'll try to keep them out of your hair."

Kurt hesitated a little too long, and Brad chuckled. "I think we're done for today," Brad said. "You go on and read, the four of you. I'll bring something to eat out to the family room."

Toby ushered the kids up the hall, then hung back a moment, draping a casual arm over Kurt's shoulder. "Those boys of yours still got you in knots?"

"You have no idea," Kurt sighed, settling into Toby's comforting arm. It was strange to think he'd just met this man a few days before; he already felt so familiar, as though he'd known him all his life. "I feel a little guilty, because... because what we have is so amazing, and at the first sign of trouble, here I am, losing my mind. But Finn's so closed off, and Puck's - " He pressed his lips together. Toby didn't know anything about _that_ part of their relationship, and he didn't think this was the time or the place to tell him about it. _If ever. _

Toby chuckled lightly. "Let me guess... Puck is _complicated_. Well, so is Will." He rolled his eyes. "I think it might be our cross to bear, something of a trade off for being fabulous queens."

Kurt felt the laughter bubble up inside him, and then he was sputtering and wiping his eyes, much to the amusement of the two kids. "Oh," he said, gasping, "that - nobody's _ever_ said that to me with as much authority as you did, just now. And I never thought I'd be so - _pleased_ to be called something like that."

"It can be a powerful thing, claiming your identity." Toby stood aside and nodded for Kurt to move ahead of them to the family room. Duncan and Cory were already settled on the couch, a book open across both of their laps.

"Read this one, uncle Toby!" Duncan shouted, holding up the thick white tome.

"Third time this visit," Toby whispered to Kurt. "Okay. Let's see... here we go." He opened the book to the first page, where there was a picture of a rolling circular shape with a wedge cut out, like a mouth.

"It was missing a piece. And it was not happy." He turned the page. "So it set off in search of its missing piece. And as it rolled it sang this song..." Toby's tune sounded something like "Put on a Happy Face": "Oh I'm lookin for my missin' piece, I'm lookin' for my missin' piece... Hi-dee-ho, here I go, lookin for my missin' piece."

Kurt settled into his corner of the couch and tucked his legs underneath him. Puck had told them about this story. Even though he'd never seen a picture of him, he could somehow imagine Puck's father, snuggled on the couch with Timothy and little Noah, much the same way he and Toby were sitting now with Duncan and Cory, and he felt a pang of odd desire he'd never experienced before.

Toby went on. "Sometimes it baked in the sun, but then the cool rain would come down. And sometimes it was frozen by the snow, but then the sun would come and warm it again." He ran an absent hand over Cory's white-blonde curls. "And because it was missing a piece, it could not roll very fast, so it would stop to talk to a worm, or smell a flower... and sometimes it would pass a beetle, and sometimes the beetle would pass it, and this was the best time of all."

Kurt's mind went back to some of his _best times of all_, these past months with Finn and Noah. Despite their recent difficulties, these memories remained, distinct and shining in the scrapbook of his mind, every bit as special as any time he'd ever spent with anyone. He couldn't bear the thought of never having any more of them. Toby glanced at him while he schooled his face and wiped his eyes, and silently handed him the handkerchief from his pocket.

"Go on," Duncan urged, patting the book. "This is the good part."

Toby obliged, singing again: "Oh I'm lookin' for my missin' piece, over land and over seas... so grease my knees and fleece my bees, I'm lookin' for my missin' piece..."

Duncan collapsed in giggles. "_Grease _my _knees... _and _fleece _my _bees! _How do you fleece bees?"

"It's a very technical term," Toby said with solemnity. "I think it has something to do with tickling." He proceeded to find each of Duncan's most sensitive spots, behind the knee, under the arm and under each foot, until he was screaming with helpless laughter.

"I'm not tickwish," Cory told Kurt firmly.

"Okay," he said, grinning at the fierce little girl, holding up his hands. "I'm not going to try."

Toby recovered the book, which had fallen face down on the couch, and continued. "And on it went, over oceans, through swamps and jungles, up mountains... and down mountains... until one day, lo and behold! "I've found my missin' piece," it sang, "I've found my missin' piece... So grease my knees and fleece my bees, I've found my . . ."

"Wait a minute," said the piece. "Before you go greasing your knees and fleecing your bees . . . I am not your missing piece. I am nobody's piece. I am my own piece. And even if I was somebody's missing piece, I don't think I'd be yours!"

"Oh," it said sadly, "I'm sorry to have bothered you." And on it rolled."

Toby paused, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "Reminds me of Will, kinda," he said. "We spent so much of our childhood and teenage years dancin' around each other, tryin' to figure it out. It seemed so obvious sometimes, but then we'd try it and things would just fall apart." His brown eyes crinkled at Kurt. "It's not always easy, even when there's love."

Kurt nodded, not trusting his voice. Toby went on with the story.

"It found another piece, but this one was too small. And this one was too big... and this one was a little too sharp... and this one was too square. One time it seemed to have found the perfect piece, but it didn't stay tightly enough and lost it." Toby stopped again, and this time Kurt saw his mouth trembling. He swallowed and tried the next line. "Another time it held too tightly and it b-broke."

"Uncle Toby?" Duncan said.

"Just give him a minute," Kurt said, softly.

Eventually Toby was able to keep reading. "So on and on it rolled, having adventures, falling into holes and bumping into stone walls. And then one day it came upon another piece that seemed to be just right."

Kurt spoke up, in a spritely little voice. "Hi," it said."

Toby grinned at him. "Hi," said the piece."

"Are you anybody else's missing piece?" said Kurt.

"Not that I know of."

"Well, maybe you want to be your own piece?"

Toby thought this over. "I can be someone's and still be my own."

"Well, maybe you don't want to be mine," said Kurt.

"Maybe I do."

"Maybe we won't fit . . ."

Toby pondered. "Well . . . Hummm? Ummmm!" He was jubilant. "It fit! It fit perfectly! At last! At last!"

Kurt found himself inexplicably moved, remembering the first night on the green couch with Noah and Finn, when Noah had sung to them both for the first time, and had cried in Finn's lap, and the three of them had shared a kiss together. _Exquisite,_ he thought, closing his eyes tight on the memory. He would never let go of it, no matter what happened.

"You okay?" Toby asked.

"Go on," Kurt murmured.

Toby did."And away it rolled, and because it was now complete, it rolled faster and faster. Faster than it had ever rolled before! So fast that it could not stop to talk to a worm, or smell a flower, too fast for a butterfly to land. But it _could_ sing its happy song - at last it could sing, "I've found my missing piece." And it began to sing." In a funny muffled voice, like he was chewing on marbles, Toby sang: "I've found my nizzin geez, uf vroun my mitzin brees... so krease ny meas an bleez ny drees, uf frown... "

This time all four of them were doubled over with laughter by the end of the page. Kurt clutched his aching stomach muscles, pleading, "Enough, enough!"

"Oh my," Toby said, blinking away tears of mirth. "Now that it was complete, it could not sing at all. "Aha," it thought. "So _that's_ how it is!" So it stopped rolling... and it set the piece down gently, and slowly rolled away... and as it rolled it softly sang..."

They all sang together, even the kids giving it a reasonable shot (_well,_ thought Kurt, _they were Brad's and Laurie's and Andi's kids, after all): _"Oh, I'm lookin for my missin' piece, I'm lookin' for my missin' piece... Hi-dee-ho, here I go, lookin' for my missin' piece."

Duncan sighed happily as Toby closed the book. "I love that story."

"Me, too," said Toby. He looked obliquely at Kurt. "How do you think the missing piece felt about being left behind?"

Kurt didn't look back. "Well, I guess it was... confused, because things were going so well. Sometimes being completely wrapped up in someone else can be pretty amazing. And I bet it was lonely. It's not like the missing piece could roll away, looking for someone else, right?"

"Ah," said Toby. "That story is in the sequel. You should check it out some time."

The four of them were building Missing Piece homes with Duplo on the floor when Andi got home from work. "Mamamamama!" they both shouted, running for her legs, and she braced herself in an expert manner to avoid being knocked down upon entering the house.

"Hi, Kurt," she said. "One more for dinner?"

"I'd better not," he said, smiling. "I'm going to try to work some things out this evening."

Andi nodded soberly. "Good luck. We're all rooting for you guys."

Toby rose from the couch, with the words "Hold on a minute," and dashed into the hallway. He came back carrying a green fleece jacket, worn and soft. The breast bore an embroidered swan insignia, with the words _Kentucky Repertory Company,_ and the name _Toby_.

"This was mine in ninth grade," Toby said. "I gave it to Will when he and Brad came down to see me in my first performance of the Nutcracker. We've been passing it back and forth like a good luck charm for the past twenty years. I'd like you to have it."

Kurt gazed at the green fleece with amazement, then up at Toby, eyes filling with tears. "Are - are you sure?"

"Definitely," Toby nodded. "It might bring you good luck, darlin.' It sure did for us."

* * *

><p>Finn slipped out the front door without saying a word to his mother, though he guessed she'd heard him leave. It was the coldest night so far this year, and the snow was already piling up around the curbs and porches, but Finn didn't care. He needed the cold, and a chance to think without interruptions.<p>

_To new beginnings, and old friendships. And possibilities. To trust. To us._ The toast they'd made, the three of them, over five weeks ago now, when they'd begun their relationship together. Now, so much meaningless dust, the memories and dreams of what could have been.

Finn stepped off the curb and walked across the street, plowing an angry path through the slush. He felt like everything had been going right - and then, all of a sudden, _one_ thing went wrong, and after that it was just another and another, and now when he looked around himself he didn't even recognize the terrain. He couldn't figure out how he could have gotten so far off track.

He remembered how surprised he'd been by Puck's desire to be handled. On one hand, it had come from out of the blue - but on the other, it'd been like he'd always known this about Puck, about his best friend, who was so good at hiding from everybody, even from himself. And it had felt like an easy request. He knew what Puck needed, and he could give it to him. He... he _wanted_ to give it to him.

_So it's really about me, _he realized bitterly, turning his collar up against the blowing snow and trudging more determinedly along the dark street. _I've been focusing on what Puck needs. What about what I need? If I want to... to hit him... what does that mean about me?_

It had been easy for Finn to reassure Puck that there was nothing wrong with _him_ for wanting it. It had been, until he started to wonder about himself. Now... the harder he looked, the more uneasy he felt. _How can I feel good about... wanting to hit my best friend? About wanting to control him? I mean, god, I get hard when I tell him what to do... what kind of a person wants that?_

The question loomed large in Finn's mind. On one hand, he felt terrible about what he'd done, about losing control like that. Puck hadn't deserved to be hit like that, no matter how angry Finn had been. _If I can't manage my own anger, maybe it'd be better for me not to be around him at all. _The thought was absurdly painful - but the thought of how he'd hurt him, and what he might do again, was worse.

But there was the other hand, the one that was even harder to understand, in which he had Puck over his knee and he wasn't just doing it because Puck needed it, but because _he liked it,_ he _wanted_ it. And the more days he went without it, he found himself growing more and more frustrated and restless, like he didn't quite fit into his skin. He couldn't focus at school; his heart was sick and embarrassed and yet he _still wanted it._ And the the idea of never having it again was absolutely appalling... almost as appalling as the thought of needing it at all.

Finn scrubbed his eyes with both hands, because the sensation of tears freezing on his face was incredibly uncomfortable. _If I can't get what I... need, or give Puck what he needs, without putting him in danger... what the hell am I going to do? _

There was a time, he remembered, when he'd had these same worries before, and he and Kurt and Puck had worked them out, but it all seemed impossible now. He couldn't recall how they'd worked through his guilt and fear and overwhelming desire for something that... that could _hurt._

_I've never felt like a bad person before,_ Finn thought, his throat constricting. _And now - I don't even know who I am. _

There were no good answers, but when he thought about what to do next, all he could remember was the green couch at Kurt's, and sitting with Kurt and figuring things out. _Kurt. Maybe Kurt can help me sort through this. _He wasn't at all sure this was true - because if he could hurt Puck, if he could get so far off track with giving him what he needed, what was going to stop him from hurting Kurt? But he didn't think he could bring this to anyone else. It was too tangled, too wrapped up in feelings and wants and needs and _everything._

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and, brushing snowflakes off the screen, he called Kurt, waited through through eight rings, through the voice mail message, hung up and tried again, with the same result.

He shouldn't have bothered to call Burt, but he was desperate enough to try. "Hey, Finn," Burt said, surprised and a little cold. _I deserve it,_ Finn thought miserably.

"Hey," he said. "I - I was just looking for Kurt, and he wasn't answering his phone, so I thought... well, I thought..."

"Oh," said Burt, clearly uncomfortable. "Uh. I think he's - he's talking to Puck."

Finn closed his eyes. "Right. Sorry to bother you."

"Finn -"

He hung up, holding his phone to his chest, letting himself fall apart a little, there on the dark snow-covered street, shoulders shaking. It was self-indulgent, but he didn't think it would matter. No one was watching or listening; no one could be hurt by anything he did, except himself.

Somehow, with nothing else around him but the blowing snow and the silent darkness, he could admit that it wasn't about the discipline or the sex. It was _Puck._ He missed _Puck._ He didn't know how he was going to get through one more night without telling him that.

Finally he dug a tissue out of his pocket and blew his nose. It was starting to get icy. He turned around and headed back to his house. There was something, at least, he could do about this.

Careful to step over the slush-filled gutter, Finn made one more phone call.

"Dr. Howell and Mr. Lawton's office," said Angela.

Finn cleared his throat. "Hey - it's Finn Hudson. I need to make an appointment."

* * *

><p>"You're still hurting," Kurt murmured, stroking the curve of Puck's shoulder where it sloped from his neck and down his arm. He held him close under the duvet, the heat generated from the recent activity of their bodies warm enough against the chilly basement.<p>

"Those bruises won't fade for a couple more days, at least," Puck said. He shifted his head a little higher on Kurt's chest.

"Mmmm. Not that." His hand covered Puck's heart, feeling it beat.

"It's better," he said. "I don't feel so confused. Calmer. You know?"

"I know," Kurt said softly. _You're not the only one who could use some discipline._

"I wanted this, too, though." Puck propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at Kurt, working through it. "It was kind of weird, separating the spanking from the sex. I mean, yeah, it's something I need, but it's also a total turn on, and he - well, he said it wasn't about that. And I can understand where he's coming from, he's not going to do stuff like that for _money,_ but..." He shrugged. "I'm just glad to be here, with you."

"Me, too, sweetheart." Kurt kissed his forehead.

Neither of them spoke about the empty space on the bed beside them, but they weren't stretching out to fill it, either.

* * *

><p>Puck woke fifteen minutes before the first bell was due to ring. He shoved his legs into his crumpled jeans and borrowed a clean t-shirt from Kurt's drawer, grabbed a cereal bar from the cupboard and was pulling out of the driveway before he realized there was a voice mail message for him. He felt his heart race as he played it.<p>

"_Puck. It's Finn. Uh, I wanted to talk with you before school, if you have time. I'll be upstairs."_

It was entirely unexpected, and he almost drove over the curb as he rounded the corner into the parking lot, he was so distracted. He checked the time. _Shit._ He'd be in chemistry by now.

The halls were nearly empty as he made his way past other stragglers, watching out for Figgins, sure that today was _not_ the day to be pulled into his office for skipping class. He paused outside the chemistry lab, watching Finn and Matt leaning over their notes, oblivious to his waving arm. Kurt was closer to the door, and as Puck knocked on the glass, he glanced up and saw him there. He gave Puck one quick, secret smile before turning back to his experiment. Puck sighed.

Somehow he managed to miss Finn on the way to Spanish, too, but when he got there, everyone was busy working in pairs on conversational practice, and Finn was sitting next to the only empty seat. Mike Chang, who'd recently taken Puck's usual spot next to Finn, watched Puck with a dubious face from across the room, eyebrows raised. Mr. Schue, on the other hand, looked completely at ease, and gave Puck a calm smile. Puck thought about Kurt's unexpected visit with Toby at Brad's house, and wondered what was going down with them. _Was this a conspiracy or what?_

"Ola," Finn said quietly as Puck slid into the chair. "Como estás?"

"Fucking cansado," Puck muttered, rubbing his eyes, "e retrasado." _Though Mr. Schue didn't seem to care much that he was late. _He glanced up at Finn's face, which was wary. "Quedarse dormido."

Finn's face cleared, and he nodded. _He probably thought I didn't show on purpose, _thought Puck, _instead of sleeping through my alarm. _ Finn hesitated, then said, quickly, "Quiero hablar con usted."

_I want to talk to you, too._ Puck nodded. "Cuando?"

"Después de la escuela?"

_After school. _"Perfecto," he nodded. They didn't touch, they didn't even smile, but Puck could feel something ease between the two of them, like a rubber band that had been stretched too tight, but that had been released. It wasn't going to be easy, he could tell - but it was a start.

Mr. Schue approached the two of them. "Esta bien?" he said in a low voice.

"Si," Finn nodded, glancing at Puck, who didn't quite look back, but who also nodded at Mr. Schue. "No esta mal."

"Bien," Mr. Schue murmured. "Muy bien, Puck e Finn."

* * *

><p>Puck's phone rang once in English class, but he didn't bother to look at it until after the period was over. Maybe Kurt and Finn <em>wouldn't<em> show for their standing date, but he wasn't going to miss checking. He felt a tightness in his stomach at the idea, and it wasn't unpleasant.

_Meemee had called_, he noted, coming out of class and walking down the hall toward the staircase that led to the attic room. It had been days since he'd been up there. He wondered if it was still cold up there, and thought he might borrow that space heater Ma had in the closet at her house.

"Noah," he heard a voice say urgently, and he turned around, surprised, to see Meemee barreling down the hall toward him.

"What-?" he said, but Meemee just took his elbow and drew him into a doorway, out of the flow of traffic.

"Didn't you get my phone calls?" Meemee said. "I've been trying to call you for the last hour." His face didn't look angry. Puck couldn't tell exactly what he was feeling.

"What? I had class. I'm not even supposed to -"

"Noah," Meemee said, and now he sounded desperate. "It's Ma."

"Oh," Puck said, feeling a twinge of guilt. "I didn't think it would matter all that much, if I waited to answer. Do you want me to come to the hospital? I can skip next class. It wouldn't be so bad."

"Yeah." Meemee took his arm. "I already checked you out at the office. Come on, we should get going."

Puck wasn't going to complain at being let out of class, for any reason, so he just followed Meemee out to the parking lot. "You want me to drive?"

"No. We'll take my car." Meemee gestured at the sedan and Puck climbed in. Then he faced Puck, said, "Noah -" and Puck realized, with a start, that he was crying.

He stared at him. "Oh my god," said Puck, his voice flat.

"Noah," he said, but Puck held up a hand, horrified.

"Holy fucking shit, Meemee?"

Meemee's hands gripped the steering wheel. "They called me this morning. She was - she was just at work, it was a regular shift, just a regular shift, not even a double. And she... she collapsed." He closed his eyes, then opened them, staring fixedly at the gauges on his dashboard. When he spoke again, it was with finality.

"She died, Noah."

It wasn't really a surprise. He guessed he'd known it when Meemee had shown up in the hallway. Still, he wasn't sure how to respond. "Are - are you okay?"

Meemee shot him an outraged look. "No, I'm _not okay,"_ he shouted. "I'm not at _all _okay."

Puck wrinkled his brow, trying to figure out what he should be feeling. He wasn't really feeling anything. Maybe a little relief. He tried taking a breath, and didn't notice any obstruction. "All right," he said, puzzled. "Um... what should we do now? Does Sarah know?"

"I was going to pick her up next," he said, staring at Puck.

"Yeah," he said. "You sure you don't want me to drive?"

Meemee grabbed his arm. "Noah," he said, louder. "This is about _Ma._ She's _dead._ Don't you get it?"

"Don't - don't touch me," Puck said, flinching back from Meemee's hand. He felt an uneasy sensation in his chest.

"I thought she was getting better," Meemee said, and the words came faster, pouring out of him, too many for Puck to handle, and he held up an arm to ward them off, squinting as though the words were glaring light and he'd lost his sunglasses. "I thought this was going to be my chance to work it out with her, that we could get another try at it; I mean, let's face it, she was a pain in the ass, but she _loved_ you, she _loved_ us both, and Noah - dammit, Noah, you have _no idea_ how hard it is out there in the world when nobody knows who you are, and how much I took her for granted; even her being angry was better than nothing -"

"_Shut up," _Puck yelled, and the sensation in his chest rose and crested and it was _awful, _he thought for a minute that he'd broken something inside him, or maybe that he was going to throw up. "Shut _up, _you fucking prick - _you're_ the one who left us! Just like _Dad!"_

Meemee paused, his eyes wild and his lips fish-white. "Noah... I came back."

"It's too late. It's too - it's too late." Puck felt something between his lips and he opened his mouth on a frustrated scream. "You don't get a do-over, do you _get _it? You can't fucking _hit me _and get away with it!"

"I didn't," he protested, but Puck had already opened the door and was out, tearing across the parking lot. "Noah!" he heard him call, but he wasn't stopping, not until he got to the - the -

_Where am I going?_ He stopped, staring at the car in front of him. It wasn't his. None of these cars were his. He had nowhere to go.

Meemee was on him then, wrapping his arms around Puck, and he didn't pull away, but he didn't respond, either. He just stood there. Eventually Meemee let go, slowly, and dropped his arms to his sides.

"Let's get going," Meemee said, walking him back to the car.

They drove the six miles to St. Rita's in silence. As they pulled into the parking lot, Puck thought, _strange to be here in the middle of the day. I wonder if we'll run into Ma. _

They came inside and rode the elevator up to the fifth floor and waited in a small reception area. "I'm going to call the temple and see if they can schedule a memorial service for her tomorrow," Meemee said.

The strange sensation in his chest persisted, and he found himself emerging from a fog into the center of it. "Ma's dead," Puck said.

Meemee shot him a startled glance. "Yeah," he said, low and tired.

Puck didn't have any reason for what he was feeling inside, but all he could think was _Finn. I need Finn._

"Finn," he said, looking up at Meemee, and Meemee nodded.

"Could Kurt bring him to the hospital?"

_Kurt - oh, god._ "I guess," he said, with a squirm of shame. _I didn't even think of him_. "I'll call him."

It was after school by now, but Finn wasn't picking up on his phone, and Puck wasn't at the point where he could leave him a message, not even just to say _call me._ Finn would see he'd called. He'd find him. _Wouldn't he?_

"Don't worry about it," said Meemee, putting a hand on Puck's phone. "He'll be here later."

_But I need him now,_ Puck thought, and for the life of him couldn't remember _why_.

The shorter, balding man who came out from the office was vaguely familiar. He smiled sympathetically and shook Meemee's hand, then Puck's. "Timothy, Noah, my name's Hiram Berry," he said. "I'm one of the hospital administrators. I'm so sorry for your loss. This is quite an unusual circumstance, and I'm here to help you take care of whatever needs to be done for your mother."

"Ma," said Puck. "Where is she now?"

Mr. Berry looked at him with sadness. "I'm know this is quite unexpected; you may not have been prepared for the end of her life."

"Not at all," Meemee said fervently. "I mean, she was sick, and we probably _should_ have been, but - there's really no one else besides us, and our sister Sarah."

_Where is Ma?_ Puck thought again in confusion, and a minute later he remembered again.

He stood and went to the door. "I'm going to - " he indicated, pointing, as Mr. Berry and Meemee watched him in surprise, and then he took off.

The stairwells were easy to hide in for a short time, and then he was in the parking lot, but it was snowing and he didn't have his truck and he didn't have any gloves or a hat or anything. _This is stupid,_ he thought crossly, walking over to Ma's car. _She doesn't need it anymore. _

The key was hidden exactly where his Ma had shown him, under the back seat left side door in a magnetic case. Puck tossed the case on the seat of the car and started the car, and sat there shivering in more than the cold.

_I'm sitting in a dead woman's car. _

He did call Kurt, then, but he didn't barely let him get past "Noah?" before he'd hung up again. When Kurt called him back, he turned off his phone.

Then he pulled forward to the intersection, drove out into the busy streets and got lost.


	26. Chapter 26

_Author's note: This is two long days' writing. It's wonderful and terrible to see the scenes that have been in my head for months, coming together at last. There are a few surprises here, too, one notable one from Kurt. _

_I expect you know by now that my inspiration is largely musical. Certain songs have formed this story, and I've been listening to many of them nonstop while I write. This chapter was largely shaped by three songs: "Now" from the upcoming musical Home by Scott Alan, sung incredibly by Jonathan Groff; "Goodnight My Angel" by Billy Joel, sung equally incredibly by John Stamos; and "Ghost" by the Indigo Girls. My playcount on all three songs has exceeded the number of hours it took me to write this chapter. You can hear two of these three songs, and most of the others from this story, on the Donutverse Youtube playlist, here: __http:/ www. youtube. com/playlist?list=PLD240CD7441F64E8C_

_Incidentally, if you want to know what Davis Lawton looks like, look no further: __http:/ www. flickr. com/photos/nubianamy/6490886351/in/photostream_

_After the events of this chapter, the story of Bending in the Archer's Hand splits into two concurrent stories. I hope you will not miss the next part of the Donutverse saga, set in Santa Fe, titled The Breath Before the Phrase, as well as sticking with our characters here at home. _

_Endless thanks to songirl77 for the lyrics to Puck's song for Finn and Kurt._

_-amy_

* * *

><p>Angela wasn't there when Finn arrived at Carl's office after school. Instead, Mr. Lawton sat behind the desk, sorting through papers. He looked like a grownup at a kid's desk, in his fancy suit and perfectly arranged blonde hair, trying to fit his long limbs into the space usually taken by petite Angela. He smiled at Finn as he walked through the glass front doors.<p>

"Hi," Finn said. "Where's Angela?"

Mr. Lawton stacked his papers and made a neat pile of them on one corner of the desk. "She has another assignment this afternoon," he said. "You might see her later. How are you today, Finn?"

"I'm doing all right," he said, sitting on the edge of the desk. He'd actually felt a lot better after those few words with Puck in Spanish class, but when he'd hurried to the attic room after school for their meeting, no one had been there. He wasn't answering his phone, either. "We had a complicated week. We had a fight - me and Puck - but I think things are getting better."

"A fight, hmm? Did you resolve things?" Finn could tell Mr. Lawton was paying close attention to what he was saying, even though his eyes were on the paperwork in front of him. He realized, with a start, that Mr. Lawton probably knew all about the baby - he was Puck's lawyer, after all - but he also knew there was a rule which said he couldn't talk about it with anybody.

"Not yet," said Finn, "but I think we have a chance of making it work."

"I'm really glad to hear that," said Mr. Lawton. "The three of you have high ambitions for your relationship. Even adults would fumble sometimes in the situation you're in. Let me tell Carl you're here."

Finn moved restlessly around the lobby, looking at the art on the walls. He'd originally thought they were abstract shapes, but now he realized they were actually really, really close-up photos of familiar things. He identified alligator clips, a hairbrush and a ruler before he realized the theme. _Tools,_ he thought, his face heating. After that, it was easier to tell that this image was a close-up of the tails of a flogger, that one a cane, and that one - he gulped - looked like a braided bullwhip.

"You like that one?" Carl's smooth voice came right behind him, and Finn jumped a little. He was smiling, dressed in a plain white shirt and tie and dress slacks, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

"I'm still a little freaked out by the idea of using any of those things," Finn said. "Actually, it's all kind of freaking me out right now. After what happened."

"Come on back to my office," Carl said, with a friendly hand on Finn's back. He closed the door quietly behind them and sat down on the couch beside the fireplace, leaning forward on his knees with an interested expression. Finn sat on the very edge of the black leather chair adjacent. "Now, tell me what this is all about."

Finn looked at his hands. "I don't know how much you already know."

"You're going to have to assume nothing," Carl said gently. "Otherwise I'd be giving away what others might be telling me, and that's definitely not going to happen. This is a strictly confidential environment, even between lovers. I often have both members of couples as clients."

Finn jerked his head up, surprised. "Really?"

"Sure. Both partners of a couple often need something from a discipline relationship, and they can't always meet each other's needs all the time."

Finn considered this. "Do you ever have clients who... who've never done this before, and they realize that one partner wants it, but the other one doesn't?"

"All the time," Carl nodded gamely. "Absolutely. And sometimes the reluctant partner just needs a little time to come to terms with what it means to offer discipline as part of a loving relationship. People come from all walks of life, Finn, and they carry all kinds of baggage into their relationships. It makes sense that those of us who desire this kind of interaction will take time to acclimate to it, and all its ramifications."

Finn nodded back, the worry twisting his heart. He gazed down at the stone flagons of the fireplace and watched it burn.

"What's this all about, Finn?" Carl asked again, more gently. He reached over and briefly laid his hand on top of Finn's as it gripped the arm of his chair.

"It started with Puck's daughter," he said, watching Carl's face, and Carl nodded for him to continue. "He wanted to keep her. I guess, since he's underage, it's not an automatic thing that he gets to be a parent, but he went through the paperwork with Mr. Lawton to petition for parental rights. He got Quinn - she's the mother - to sign off." He sighed. "Quinn was my girlfriend, but she and Puck -"

"I got it," Carl said easily. "What happened?"

"I told him - I didn't think it was a good idea. Puck's life, it's not the most stable, and he has trouble managing sometimes. I thought, bringing a kid into the mix - not the best idea, you know? So I told him, look, I know you want this, but you've got to trust me, it's not good for you to be a father now. Let someone else be the kid's father, somebody better equipped. Somebody who can give her everything she needs." Finn cast an appeal at Carl. "Does that make sense?"

Carl was silent for a long moment. He looked like he was struggling with something. "It does," he said, finally. "It does make sense. I can understand that point of view - very well." His blue eyes flashed at Finn, and Finn's breath caught for a moment at the intensity behind them. "But I can also see Puck's view. When you're somebody's father - that's not something that goes away, no matter what you want to have happen. You're always tied to that person."

"That's what he said, too." Finn closed his eyes. "I can see now, that I wasn't listening to him, that I could have been a better - a better Top? I could have given him support and helped him without taking away his ability to make decisions for himself... and even if I didn't understand, I could have been his friend. I mean, I still am. His friend."

Carl gazed at him. "You're a lot more than that to him," he said quietly.

Finn swallowed thickly, trying not to cry in front of this impressive man. He _wanted _to impress him, he wanted - wanted to be _good_, to make him proud. "Yes," he whispered. "He's a lot more than that, to _me._"

"So." He leaned back and regarded Finn again, this time more critically. "You disciplined him. You set down some rules?"

"Yes," Finn said. "I told him he needed to let go of her, that he couldn't - that he shouldn't - have her. And he said he wouldn't. He said he would stay with me, and he would give her up." Finn felt the burning anger rise up again, faster than he would have believed, and saw through Carl's eyes that he could see it too. "But he lied. He lied _right to my face,_ over and over." The anger was choking him.

"That... is unfortunate," Carl said regretfully, nodding. "But you have to realize, that's part of the dynamic between Top and brat sometimes. The brat will push boundaries, try to find any way out of the contract, push every button you have. It's your job not to take it personally, not to let it get to you, and provide firm, clear expectations - and equally clear consequences when those expectations are not met."

"But what if I can't do that?" Finn protested. "I messed up. Big time. I punched him. I... I don't think I can trust myself around him, if I'm going to get angry like that."

"Now, wait a minute." Carl held up a hand and shook his head. "You've got to stop that _right now._ First of all, you're going to get angry. It's part of who you are. Everybody gets angry. Your goal is just not to let it eat at you. What Puck did, it wasn't about you. You can be angry about what he did, you can be angry about how he's being - but you can't let it rule your interaction with him. If you lose your temper, you apologize and move on."

His gaze hardened, and suddenly his eyes were diamond on Finn, making him squirm. "And second... you can't expect yourself to be perfect. Nobody is. You saw _me _screw up, right here in this office - and there were consequences for me. I needed them as much as anyone." There was a flash of humor in his eyes before they went right back to stern. "Just as there will be consequences for you, young man."

"I -" Finn found himself frozen, eyes wide and fixed on Carl. "I'm not sure what you -"

"What you give your boys, Finn. It's what you need, too." He wasn't letting him look away, not even to blink. Finn's eyes were watering, but his mouth was dry. He had a death grip on the arms of the chair.

"I don't think I can - " he choked.

"Oh, yes, you can," Carl said, smooth and calm. He stood, and Finn looked up at him, his breath coming faster. He held out his tanned hand. "Come with me."

Even as he thought, _am I really going to do this?_ he was rising from the chair and following Carl out the door and up the stairs, chin tucked to his chest, apparently not even ready to argue with him about it. He barely noticed their surroundings as they emerged into an octagonal room filled with light. Carl led him into an adjacent room, one with a wooden chair and a large wardrobe and nothing else. Finn sat down in the chair, straight and tall, waiting for what Carl was going to tell him.

"We need to take care of some business, Finn," Carl said firmly. "Tell me, in one sentence: what's this all about?"

"I hit Puck, in anger," Finn said immediately.

"Which is something you may _not_ do to any sub," he stressed. "You're there to give him guidance and discipline, not react to his poor decisions. It undermines your authority and can hurt him, especially if he's dealt with abuse." Carl looked meaningfully at Finn.

"I know," he said, closing his eyes. "I want to take it all back. I wish it had never happened."

"But it did. Ignoring it isn't going to make it go away. You've got to deal with it, up front, honestly." Carl crossed his arms in front of his chest. "And you've got to give him his own discipline for what he did wrong. That's just as important, Finn. Consistency, here, is for his own good. Do you understand?"

"Yes, s- " His eyes opened, and he hesitated. "Is that okay?"

"It's okay, Finn," said Carl, and his voice was unbelievably kind, so gentle and full of understanding, that Finn started to cry. He didn't know if _that_ was okay, either, but at this point, he didn't have any choice in the matter, because the tears were coming, hard and fast like sleet, and he wasn't going to ignore them for anything.

"That's it," he murmured, placing a hand on Finn's head. "That's a good boy. Just let it come."

Carl moved in close, pulling Finn in roughly to his stomach, and Finn leaned into the embrace, his body shuddering. It was ridiculously easy to let himself fall apart here, in front of Carl, now that he'd given him permission. "I just feel so _bad_ for hurting him_,"_ he sobbed.

Carl's hand on his hair was incredibly soothing, even more than resting his head on his abdomen. He stroked Finn's hair and spoke in a quiet monotone. "It's all right. You did something wrong. This will take care of your guilt, and let you move on. This will take care of it."

"Yes, sir," Finn whispered. Already, he felt better, felt the retreat of the guilt in the face of being cared for, and it was staggering how much it changed him. He leaned back, looking up at Carl standing beside him, and wiped his eyes. "Thank you. I'm ready."

Carl's face creased in an astonished smile, just for a moment, and Finn saw the tears glistening in his own eyes. "I always forget how different it is between two Tops." He stepped away from him.

He gestured to the wardrobe, and Finn was reminded strongly of a book his mom had read to him when he was little, one in which four children traveled to another world. "It's customary to choose your own tool," he said. Finn stood and opened the door, and took a breath - because it _was_ almost like being transported somewhere else. Because Lima, Ohio shouldn't have a place where these tools were arrayed like this, like an arsenal, for Finn to pick for his own punishment.

He touched most of them before settling on a simple leather paddle, the largest and plainest. "This one," he said, feeling certain.

Carl nodded, looking pleased. "You prefer utility over show. That's commendable."

"It's not a performance," Finn said, with some heat, and Carl just nodded again.

"No, of course not. It's not for anyone but us."

Finn turned his head, studying Carl's face. "Us?"

"Us," Carl agreed. "You know it's not a one-sided arrangement. It never is - that's what makes it work. I told you some people use the phrase _power exchange,_ because there's a mutual gain between one who Dominates and one who submits."

Finn thought again how remarkable it was that he was several inches taller than Carl, and yet it seemed as though the older man was standing over him, his only tool his eyes. "I was feeling bad, earlier today, for wanting it," he said.

Carl nodded. "Desire is complex. We all get caught in shame sometimes. Even me, after over twenty years." He smiled at Finn. "Do you feel bad now?"

"No," said Finn softly, meeting Carl's eyes. "I don't."

Their gaze was almost too intimate, but Finn stuck with it, feeling the strength and understanding, and other things underneath. Carl took the paddle from him, his face grave.

"If you were my boy," said Carl, still holding his eyes, "I'd put you over my knee."

Finn felt his legs wobble, and he had to clutch at the chair for support. "Okay," he said.

"As it is, I think that might introduce - complications." Carl's smile was rueful. "It'll be better this way. If you don't mind..." He took Finn's hands off the chair, then showed him how he wanted him to stand, hands and legs braced, knees unlocked, bottom in the air.

"You - shouldn't I take off my pants?" Finn asked, his face heating up.

"Mmm," said Carl, rubbing his chin. "This paddle lays a pretty heavy wallop all by itself. But - all right. Go ahead."

_Why did I _say_ that?_ Finn groaned inside his head, but he complied, taking his own jeans down, then, at a nod from Carl, his boxers as well. He tried not to be aware of his own nudity, and the proximity of another man, someone _not_ his boyfriend, and with whom things that ordinarily accompanied this kind of activity were _not_ going to happen. Instead, he focused on arranging himself appropriately, watching Carl for cues, and waited, taking a steady, even breath.

"Remarkable," Carl said under his breath. He laid the paddle on Finn's bare skin. "You've chosen a word, to use if things get too intense," he reminded him. "I want to hear you say it now."

Carl had coached him to choose a word he wouldn't forget, but one that wouldn't come up in the course of an encounter, like _no_ or _stop. _"Waterfall," he said.

"Someday you'll have to tell me why you chose that," Carl said. "Not now, though. Right now, your job is to endure this. Don't try to fight it or pretend it doesn't hurt. We both know it does, so there's no point, all right?"

Finn nodded. It seemed like a long time between Carl's last words and his next action, in which the paddle lifted and came down again on Finn's bottom, _hard._ There was a pause, and Finn had time to think _Oh, that's not so - _before it landed again, in the same spot, just as hard.

Finn's voice came ripping out of his throat, much louder than he'd ever intended, as the burn began. It only increased, multiplying in intensity, consuming his whole consciousness, and he found himself flinching away, tucking his bottom in a futile effort to avoid the next stroke.

"Finn," Carl said, as calm as ever. "You need to stay still, so I don't accidentally hit something I'm not aiming at. If you can't do that, I'm going to need to restrain you."

Finn moaned and squirmed, but he put himself back into the position he'd started in, and held on to the chair for dear life. _It hurt, mother of God, it hurt, it really really hurt -_ and then the next blow came, and the next, and it was _worse,_ it was _so _much worse.

"Let it go," Carl said, and each strike landed precisely on the one before. Finn shouted with the pain and frustration of feeling _helpless, _and he wondered desperately if this was how Puck felt _all the time._ _How does he bear it?_ he couldn't help thinking, even in the midst of the blistering pain.

"All right, now," he heard, and realized the blows had stopped. Finn hung his head below his shoulders, breath heaving, buttocks on fire - and his mind surprisingly clear.

"That's - all?" he asked, and he cringed a little at how it sounded. "I'm not asking for more, really, I just wanted to know -"

"That's all," Carl said, and ran a hand down Finn's back. Finn shuddered as he felt the response all through his body, and this time the sound that escaped his mouth was unmistakably one of _wanting. _He cut it off with an embarrassed laugh. Carl took his hand away and smiled; Finn thought Carl's own cheeks might be a little pink.

"Sorry," Finn muttered. He reached down and retrieved his boxers and stepped into them, feeling suddenly far too exposed to be without pants in front of Carl.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Carl said. He waited until Finn had struggled into his jeans, wincing a little, and then he put a hand on Finn's arm. "It's a natural response, for many men. It comes with the release of tension. It means - it worked."

_It worked, _Finn's mind echoed, and he settled into the sensation of clarity. He sighed. "Yeah," he said. "It did. Thanks." He held out his hand to Carl for him to shake.

Carl considered his hand, looking a little taken aback, but he took it and shook it firmly. "I'm sure you know it's important to take time afterwards, to relax, eat and drink something, and consider your feelings. This isn't simple stuff. Why don't you grab a bottle of water from the cupboard in there, and I'll call down to Davis to bring us a snack in my office, and we can talk."

Carl spoke on the phone briefly to Davis, finishing up just as Finn returned with two bottles of water. He handed one to Carl, who accepted it with a smile.

"Davis - he looked like he was filling in for Angela?" Finn asked, walking stiffly behind Carl on the way downstairs. Carl turned off the lights and chuckled.

"Davis is being disciplined for something he did last week," Carl said. "This is part of his penance. He hates doing paperwork."

Finn paused for a moment, shocked, but Carl kept going down the stairs, and he had to follow or else be left behind. "I guess I hadn't thought about... discipline, being anything other than... what we just did."

"Oh, yes," Carl said lightly, as they emerged into his office. The fire was nearly out, but Carl poked it and put another log on the grate. "Historically it extends far beyond corporal punishment, and psychologically can be very effective, depending on who you are. Davis is a submissive, almost without exception, and he's very bright. He responds well to tasks, activities that give his brain a chance to shut off and let his subconscious do some thinking." He glanced at Finn, leaning against the stone of the fireplace - he was _not_ going to sit down. "Consider at school, if you do something wrong. What is a typical consequence?"

"Detention," said Finn. "Or suspension, if it's really bad. They call your parents, call you to the office."

Carl nodded "So, what is that? Restricting freedom - essentially bondage. Cutting you off from your social group - isolation. Parents and principal - public shaming. What about writing essays? Extra homework?"

"Yeah," Finn said, thoughtfully. "So you're saying it's _all_ really discipline?"

"I'm saying teachers, all authority figures, use classic methods to break down a person's pysche, to use power-over to gain control. But in this case, here in this office, it's _shared_ control. It's for the good of your mental health, not because I want to manipulate or use you. Well." Carl coughed. "Not without your consent, that is."

Finn laughed in surprise, and Carl ran a hand over his neck, amused. "So - this is _good for me?"_ Finn said, marveling.

"It can be," Carl allowed. "Let me be clear. There are just as many _wrong_ ways to be in a discipline relationship as there are to be in any kind of interpersonal relationship. Some people misuse their power. I've seen - well, I don't even want to tell you what I've seen. People don't always have others' needs in mind, let's say. And we all make mistakes, myself and Davis included." Carl grinned. "He'll have to be the one to tell you what he did, but it makes a hell of a story."

Finn let all this sink in, and when Davis came in with a tray of cheese and fruit and crackers for them, he looked at him with new eyes. Davis glanced first at Finn, then at Carl, with a curious expression. Finally he sighed. "All right... what did you tell him?"

Carl's eyebrows went up. "Practically nothing," he drawled. The grin they shared spoke of a longstanding friendship. Finn felt a pang inside at his own missing best friend. _He could apologize,_ he realized, straightening up. _He could make it right. _

Finn ate some food and drank his water, and smiled and laughed at all the right places through Davis's tale of woe, which involved a "tiny little scratch" to a borrowed car, and a failure to inform the owner of his actions, not to mention an unfortunate security camera video tape. But his mind was elsewhere, and Carl apparently could tell. Eventually he reached over and touched Finn's knee.

"You should call him," he said. "While you're feeling like this. It's the best thing you can do for yourself, and him."

"I think I will," said Finn. He shook Carl's hand again, and Davis'. "Thanks, again. I - it's really nice to know you're here."

"My pleasure, Finn," Carl said, his eyes dancing. "Let me know how things go with your boy."

But as Finn trudged down the street in the blowing snow to the bus stop, his phone call to Puck still resulted in a generic voice mail message. He left a few words, just to let Puck hear his voice and know he wasn't mad, ending with "Call me, okay?"

Then he called Kurt, who picked up on the first ring. "Finn," he said, out of breath.

"Hey," said Finn. "You won't believe what I just did. Can I come over? We need to talk."

"Finn," Kurt said again, and Finn realized he wasn't out of breath. He was crying.

"Baby," said Finn, with a sickening blast of fear. "What is it?"

"It's Noah's mother," he said. "She - she died. This afternoon."

_Puck, _he thought wildly. "Oh... my god. Where are you?"

"We're at St. Mary's. Timothy said she just collapsed during rounds this morning. They'll have more information after they do the... the autopsy." Kurt took a hitching, sobbing breath, and Finn immediately needed to be where he was, to hold him, to make it okay.

"I'll be there in just a few minutes," Finn promised, looking at the bus schedule he had in his pocket. "I'm already downtown."

"What are you...? Never mind. Tell me later. I can't talk about anything here. Finn, Puck's _gone._ He took his mother's car and drove - somewhere. He's not answering his phone. God - I can't deal with this, not knowing where he is... what he might be -"

"He'll be okay," Finn said, as calmly as he could. "He can take care of himself."

"No, Finn, he _can't,"_ Kurt said, his voice rising in shrill panic. He heard Burt say, _"Easy there, buddy."_

Finn leaned heavily on the bus stop sign, brushing snow out of his eyes. "I know you're worried, but it'll be all right. He's a survivor. He'll come back when he's ready."

"That's what my dad said," Kurt sighed. On the other end, Burt added, _"See?"_

"Listen to him. I love you. I'll be _right there._ What floor are you on?" He stared down the street, willing the bus to drive faster.

"I love you, too," Kurt whispered. "We're on the fifth floor. Finn... you sound a lot better."

"I am," said Finn. "But don't worry about me. Now we all have to be there for Puck."

* * *

><p>Santana stretched out on her back on Britt's bed while Britt finished her nighttime calisthenics. She was so freaking flexible, it was disgusting. "Okay," she said into her phone. "Explain again why singing lead is a <em>bad thing?"<em>

"It's not bad," Blaine protested. "Just - being a sophomore, and singing lead, I feel... like it's not fair. Like maybe some of the seniors in the group deserve a chance to be in front, sometimes. But the vote was unanimous. I couldn't really say anything about it."

"You're just too awesome," she said, rolling to her side, half onto Lord Tubbington, who barely moved and simply purred harder. "And you're such a dork. Why would anybody complain about getting _too many solos?_ I wish I could get even _one."_

"They don't know what they're missing, San," he said positively. She grinned. His unswerving faith in her was a hallmark of their ten years of friendship. Never mind that they hadn't really sung together in over a year, since he'd transferred to Dalton.

Both Santana and Brittany jumped as there was a loud rapping on the window. Britt scrambled up from her yoga pose and put her hands on the sill, pressing against the glass. "It's Puck," she said in puzzlement. "Why wouldn't he use the door?"

"He's trying not to be noticed," San said, sitting up.

"What's going on?" Blaine asked. "Who's trying not to be noticed?"

"Puck. He's here at the window."

"He's the one who used to be Noah, right?" Blaine knew _about_ all of Santana's friends, but after that unfortunate birthday party in third grade, his dad never let him hang out with her anymore.

"Right. He doesn't look very good. I should go. You'll be home for Christmas, right?"

"As little as possible," said Blaine. "But I'll call you when I get back into town. I have something for you." This made Santana smile; Blaine always found the _best_ presents.

"Bye," she said, and disconnected the call. "Holy shit, Puck - what the hell happened to you?"

Well she might ask, because Puck looked _terrible._ Britt closed the window on the blowing snow and helped Puck to sit down in her desk chair while she worked at his soaking boot laces. "It's way too cold out there for swimming," Britt said, chiding.

"I fell in the snow," he said. "A couple times. I don't really remember."

Something in his voice made Santana come closer. His face was frozen and his nose red, but his skin was a scary grey color. "Puck..."

"She's still at the hospital," he said.

"Who?" asked Britt.

"My Ma. She's still there." He closed his eyes. "Can I stay here tonight?"

"You're not living with your Ma anymore," said Santana. She was starting to get pissed off. "What, is she working late or something?"

"She's late." Puck laughed. "Yeah, she's really late. As in, the late Ruth Puckerman."

It just got fucked up after that, but eventually she got the whole story out of Puck, and then Britt made him take off his wet clothes and get into the shower so he would stop shivering. Then Santana made Britt put her arms around her and hold her while she thought about what the hell to do next.

"He's really confused," Britt whispered.

Santana nodded, resting her head on Britt's shoulder. "I think people usually are when their parents die."

Britt thought about this. "I just don't understand what the big deal is about death. They'll totally see her in heaven. Well, maybe not Puck."

"Wouldn't you miss me, if I died?"

Britt smiled at her. "You'd still be in my dreams every night, right?"

Santana sighed. "Never change, Brittany."

* * *

><p>When Quinn came to stay with Brittany after moving out of Finn's house, she realized Santana was sleeping over as often as not. She knew Santana's mother lived way on the other side of town, as a live-in housekeeper for some rich family in Lima Heights, and that Santana's friend - Blair? Baguely? - had transferred to some private school somewhere, so it made sense that she would hang out here. But Santana wasn't just visiting; she had, like, a toothbrush and two drawers and her favorite cereal in the cupboard (Cracklin' Oat Bran). It was almost like she was Britt's sister or something.<p>

And Britt had boys over sometimes - last week she even had _three_ of them, but Quinn couldn't tell from the sounds who they were - but this was the first time in a while that she'd seen Puck at the Pierce house. He didn't much look like he was interested in talking, either. Not that she blamed him, after what had happened with Finn earlier that week.

Puck was sitting at the kitchen table, freshly showered, in a white t-shirt and boxers, resting his head on his arms, just doing nothing. He didn't even have his guitar. She wandered over to sit beside him.

"Hey," she said. "The baby's doing crazy somersaults, if you want to feel."

He put out a half-hearted hand to her stomach, not even bothering to lift his head, but he did offer a smile when he felt her belly lurch and bump. "That's so freaking cool," he murmured.

"You wouldn't say that if you were feeling it from this side," she said. Actually, it was awesome, having the baby kick inside her, but Quinn figured she'd get more sympathy from people if they thought she was hurting.

"Probably not," he admitted. He rolled his head back, chin on his hands. "D'you know, I never even told my Ma about the baby."

"Really." Quinn wasn't too surprised; Puck and his Ma weren't very close, and from what Quinn remembered, she wasn't super keen on the idea of being a parent at all. "Do you think she'll have a problem with it?"

"She got pregnant with Meemee when she was pretty young," he said. "She and my dad were still together when Sarah was born. I think she liked being a mom, back then, before things got so shitty at work and with my dad."

Quinn noticed Puck didn't answer her question, but she didn't push it. "What are you going to do? When she's here?"

He didn't answer at first. Then he sat back, propping his leg on the edge of the table. "I think it'd be cool to travel," he said. "Couldn't have the car seat in the truck, but I could sell it and get a car with a back seat."

"Just you and the baby?" She knew Puck better than to say _what a stupid idea_ right off the bat. If she questioned it enough, he'd come to that conclusion all on his own. "What about work?

"I can do car maintenance; Kurt's dad taught me. But I think I'd do better working in a restaurant. I could start low, dishwasher or prep cook, and work my way up. Then I could be home with her during the day, find somebody to watch her at night when I worked."

"Sounds like you've got it all figured out, Puck." It was more pre-planning than she'd ever heard from him before. "And what about... you know. Finn? And Kurt?"

She didn't expect the answer he gave. "They don't want to have a baby," he shrugged. "So I figured that was pretty much the end. It was only a matter of time, right? I mean. _You _said it. I'm a Lima loser. They're not going to want to stick around with me anyway."

Then Santana's head poked around the corner, and she said, "Quinn," and she _never_ used Quinn's real name, so she knew it must be important.

She didn't believe it at first when Santana told her. It sounded like a prank, if a sick one. But Santana stuck to her guns, and eventually Quinn had to accept it. _God... Puck._ She went up behind him and put her arms around his chest. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"Yeah," he said, holding still until she was done hugging him. Then he got up and went outside, standing looking up at the sky while the snow fell on his face.

"I'm going over to tell Mr. Hummel he's here," she said to Santana. "He's just two blocks away."

"He didn't want me to," Santana said. "I don't think we should snitch on him if he doesn't want his boyfriend's dad to know where he is. He'll be okay here for one night."

Quinn looked outside at him in the snow. "I don't think he'll be okay anywhere," she said. "I don't think he's okay, period."

"No," sighed Santana in irritation. "But we've got to work with what we've fucking got."

* * *

><p>There was endless paperwork, more of it than Timothy had seen before, and he'd been working with the hospital for the past four weeks on a daily basis. He tried to take notes, but he knew he was forgetting some things as Mr. Berry whirled him through the process. Forms because she died on the job. Forms because she was being treated for certain things. Forms because she was Jewish and needed to decline the embalming. Forms to release her body.<p>

_Her body._ He'd been the one to identify it. That had been a little weird, and more than a little upsetting, but he'd already cried so much he figured a little more wouldn't matter. He had six tissues in his pocket, an extra pen, a bottle of Excedrin and all Ma's identification. His satchel had copies of all their financial paperwork, including tax statements from the past two years and all the bills she hadn't paid over the past couple months. He was actually surprised they hadn't turned off the gas yet.

The house - that'd probably get repossessed. Just as well, since the balloon mortgage was about to go up, and he could barely afford to pay for his apartment with the money he'd made on the last tour. _January,_ he thought. _January, I get to go back to L.A. and start the new record. She'll let me crash as long as I want. No more fucking Lima, Ohio. _

Except for Sarah. Noah, he'd be all right. He had his new little family, and in two years he'd be of age anyway. If Timothy could make it on his own at sixteen, so could Noah. But Sarah - he sighed. He had no idea what he would do with her. _Maybe she could come to L.A.? _he thought hopefully, but he knew that was a ridiculous idea.

Sarah hadn't said one word since he'd told her Ma had died. It was almost worse than when he'd told Noah, in a way, because she was just - mute. He wished she would yell or scream. At least that he could understand. He glanced at her sitting on the plastic seats along the wall in the Family Grief Room, her hands in her pockets of her tie-dye dress and the knit hat with a red pointy face and ears and a dangling fox tail in back. Earbuds were firmly in her ears, but he didn't think she was listening to anything.

"You hungry?" he tried.

She shook her head.

Carole stepped into the room with Finn behind her. Finn went to sit beside Sarah, and she immediately turned away from him. Carole sighed and put a hand on Timothy's back. It felt good to have some human contact, after the brush-off he'd gotten from his two siblings.

"I bet _you're_ hungry," she said. "Why don't you go? Or I can run down to the cafeteria and pick something up and bring it back."

"I have more forms to fill out," he said, holding up the stack. Carole half-sighed, half-groaned.

"When Christopher died, I swear, I had to answer the same question sixteen times." She glanced at Sarah and leaned in to speak more quietly. "You guys can come stay at my house tonight, okay?"

"That's - that's very nice of you," Timothy said, startled. "I was trying to figure out what... well, Sarah... I guess we're going to have to talk to a social worker."

"Burt and I might be able to help with that process," she said. "I imagine it's going to be different now, without your mother, but she's already in the system, and I hope that means things will be sped up a bit. But - no matter what, Timothy, Sarah and Puck have a place with me. They can stay as long as they need to."

Timothy closed his eyes against the flood of relief that came with that information. "I feel awful," he said. "I mean, she's my sister, and I love her, but -"

"But you're not ready to take care of an eleven year old," Carole nodded. "Even if you wanted to. Don't feel bad about that, Timothy. You're still growing up, yourself."

He stared at the papers, the endless reiterations of _Address, Social Security Number, Living Dependents. _ His hand was already cramping. "I guess I could use something to eat," he said.

"I'll go get you some soup. I had it myself, and it wasn't awful." She stood and gave Finn one more meaningful glare before she headed down the hall to the elevator.

Timothy watched Finn consider Sarah for a moment. "Sarah," he said. She didn't answer. "Hey - I'm just gonna talk, okay? You don't have to say anything. But I need to say some things, and nobody's here to hear them but you, so..."

She crossed her arms and ignored him. Now Timothy was sure no music was playing on the earbuds. There was no way she could have heard him to ignore him otherwise.

"I wanted to say... I'm really sorry for what I did to your brother," he said. "I was pissed off, but that wasn't any reason for me to hit him. It's not the first time we've had a fight like that, but... this time was different, because... because I'm his boyfriend now, and he thought he could trust me in a different way. He thought he was safe with me."

Sarah was looking more and more angry, but she hunched into her arms and continued to ignore Finn. _Our family's specialty,_ Timothy thought tiredly. _Close your ears and wait for it to go away._

"We've got a lot of work to do," Finn continued doggedly. "But I think we can work through it. Your mother's death... that's going to be hard for both of you, I know. I want you to be the first to know... I'm not going anywhere. I'm sticking around."

She looked over her shoulder at him. "But you said... you _said_ you were done with him."

"I know what I said, but... I was wrong. I shouldn't have said that. I was trying... if you can believe this, I thought I was helping." He grinned. "Pretty stupid, huh?"

"Really stupid," she agreed. Then she launched herself at him and wrapped her arms around his chest. He looked a little surprised, but a lot pleased, and he hugged her right back.

"You're a big shit, Finn Hudson," she said, muffled into his shirt. "And I'm still pissed at you."

"I'm still pissed at your brother," he said. "I don't think I can get over it so easily. But you - I'm not at all mad at you. And I didn't want you to feel like you couldn't come to me, when things suck so bad."

"Things have always sucked." She glanced at Timothy. "It's not so different now. Except now that she's dead, we don't have to take care of her anymore."

_Speak for yourself, _Timothy thought, flipping through the stack of paperwork again.

* * *

><p>"He's still not home?" Rachel asked, peering over the banister into the family room. "What did he say on the phone?"<p>

"He just said there was a matter he had to take care of before he could come home," said Daddy Leroy. He gave the soup one more stir and offered it up to her for a taste. She came into the kitchen and sipped off the wooden spoon. "Good?"

"Mmm," she agreed. "More garlic."

"Too late to add more garlic," he said. He took a handful of fresh herbs and crushed them in his hands, spilling them in among the beans. "Let's try this."

They were still working on getting the soup flavorful enough for Rachel's taste by the time Daddy Hiram came in the door. He looked exhausted, but he was happy enough to get kisses from his family.

"So what happened today?" Leroy asked, spooning up the soup. "Rachel, get the bottle of wine from the door of the fridge. Your daddy looks like he needs it."

"I won't say no," Hiram sighed, rubbing his neck. "God. What a day. We had a nurse pass away in the middle of her shift, right in front of patients and everything. It was a nightmare."

"Oh, my god," Rachel exclaimed.

"I think you might know her son," he went on. "Ruth Puckerman. Her son Noah goes to McKinley."

Rachel dropped her soup spoon. "Noah - oh, no. _Noah's _mom? He's got to be frantic." She turned frightened eyes on her father. "He doesn't have any parents, Daddy. What's going to happen to him?"

"His older brother was there," he soothed. "Social services will take it if he turns out not to be a fit parent, but he's not alone. But - he took off, lost us in the hospital. He took his mother's car and drove away. They still haven't heard from him. He was pretty confused."

Leroy reached for Hiram's hand and held it tight. "The death of a parent, that's hard on a kid. I see all kinds of reactions."

"Daddy - you can help him, right?" Rachel touched their joined hands, feeling relieved. "You can find him a therapist, someone who does grief counseling like you?"

"I'd be happy to help," Leroy said. "Anything for a friend of yours, angel."

* * *

><p><em>1 text – Mercedes Jones<br>__8:33 pm – you'll never never guess what I just heard from RACHEL. Puck's mom died this morning! OMG. Poor Puck. and now he's gone AWOL and nobody's seen him all day._

_1 text - Tina Cohen-Chang  
><em>_8:34 pm - that's terrible! What about Kurt? He must be totally freaking out. Have you talked to him?_

_1 text - Mike Chang  
><em>_8:35 pm - was she sick? I didn't even know anything was wrong. Nobody tells me anything._

_1 text - Artie Abrams  
><em>_8:36 pm - listen to the tiny violins, buddy. I don't think Puck was really talking much about his mother, and after the debacle with Finn and the baby... whoo. Hella mess. You think we should go over there?_

_1 text - Tina Cohen-Chang  
><em>_8:37 pm - go over WHERE? He's not going to be at his house. You think at Kurt's?_

_1 text – Mercedes Jones  
><em>_8:38 pm – yo, everybody chill, okay? Kurt and Puck have enough to deal with without us being in the way. I'll call and let you know what I learn._

* * *

><p>Burt stood in the hallway for a moment, listening just hard enough to make sure Kurt wasn't talking to Finn or Puck, and then knocked softly before walking in.<p>

"Mercedes," Kurt said, holding up the phone, wiping his red and swollen eyes for what seemed like the millionth time. Burt nodded.

"She can come over, if you want," he offered, but Kurt shook his head.

"I want to be here alone in case Noah comes back." Into the phone, he said, "Thanks. Tell everybody I'll see them at the memorial service tomorrow. I love you too." He set the phone down, then fell back on the pillows with a groan. "God, Dad."

"I know," he said, coming in and sitting down on the bed. "It's like your mom all over again. Tomorrow's going to be even harder, with the funeral and everything."

"I didn't even _like _her," Kurt protested, sniffing. "I feel stupid making such a fuss. But I can't stop thinking about Noah, and Sarah, and Timothy - how I would feel if _you -"_

Burt let his sensitive son fall apart on his shoulder for the fifteenth time today, holding him gently while he cried. "I'm not going anywhere, Kurt," he said.

"But you don't know that for sure."

"Nobody does," he agreed. "You've heard that phrase from Benjamin Franklin, about two things in life being certain?"

"Death and laundry," Kurt said, and Burt gave him a little nudge, grinning.

"I think it was death and smartass sons," he corrected. "But look at me. I'm healthy, thanks to a good diet from my obnoxiously thorough meal planner and twice a week at the gym. I'm low stress, due to my son having a stable, ordinary relationship..."

"Forget it," Kurt retorted, crossing his arms. "Stable and ordinary is clearly not in the cards for me. You'll be lucky to get tumultuous and quirky."

"I can live with tumultuous and quirky," Burt allowed. He scooted up on the bed next to Kurt, leaning back on the enormous pile of pillows that graced his headboard, and put an arm around his shoulder, pulling him down onto his chest. He absolutely did _not_ mention the bottle of lube that sat on the nightstand.

"I'm not sure what's going to happen with Finn and Noah," Kurt muttered after a moment of silence.

"Me either," said Burt. "But this isn't about them. You heard what Finn said. We've got to be here for Puck now."

"This from the same boy who was engaging in fisticuffs with Noah in the middle of the choir room not a week ago?" Kurt said. "You really think I can trust what he says?"

"Hey, you're the one dating him, not me." Burt listened to the sound of Kurt breathing, more precious than life itself, and chuckled. "Fisticuffs?"

He sighed. "It wasn't pretty, Dad."

"I bet." He considered the timing, and then thought, _screw it,_ and went ahead. "I've been thinking about something."

"Okay..."

"Now that Ruth's... gone, Sarah's going to need a place to stay. And Puck. Like, permanently."

He could feel Kurt tense, but he just hung on. "Dad," he whispered.

"I haven't talked to them yet. I wanted to ask you first."

"Permanently." Kurt wrenched away and stared at him, his eyes intense. "Dad... I don't know what to say."

"I don't either," Burt sighed, "but it looks like this question is going to have to be answered sooner than later. Or else Sarah's gonna get sent to live with some ward of the state. Both Carole and I, we agreed they could stay with either one of us as long as they need, as long as they _can,_ but... there's no way they're going to grant permanent custody to Timothy. And honestly, I don't think he wants it."

Kurt stared blankly across the room. "I don't know."

"Well, you're going to need to think about it eventually. We've got a thirty day window, according to the social worker I've been talking to. But I don't think I should even bring it up with either of them until you've said yes. Or no."

Kurt wrinkled his nose. "God. That would... that would make Noah my... _my brother?"_

"Not actually," Burt said, but he felt a wave of giddy hilarity wash over him, and he started to laugh. "Holy crap, Kurt."

Kurt buried his face in his hands. "Dad... maybe I should just become a monk. They have gay monks, right?"

"Tons of 'em," Burt agreed, pulling Kurt back down into the safety of his arm. "Whole squadrons. We'll go on a field trip to visit some after Christmas."

"I love you, Dad."

"You, too, Kurt," he murmured, and kissed his hair.

* * *

><p>Carl turned the fifth page of the Friday morning newspaper and nearly choked on his coffee. <em>Shit.<em> "Angela."

"Yes, sir," she said, from the kitchen.

"How many Puckermans do you suppose there are in Lima?" He held up the newspaper, and she walked around the island to read over his shoulder.

"Oh, my god," she said. "That's his mother. The poor kid."

"They're having a memorial this afternoon." He glanced up at her.

"Hmmm," she said, biting her lip. "You're getting attached to them, aren't you, sir."

"Cheeky, aren't we?" He reached over and smacked her bottom. "I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to, sir," she called back, retreating into the kitchen.

"Fine. But I'm getting a second opinion." He stood, tucking the newspaper under his arm, and made his way down the hallway to the guest room. The house was plenty big enough for his own rooms, and playrooms besides, and he seldom used this wing at all. He'd turned up the thermostat last night after Davis' session, and it was warm and cozy when he opened the door. Carl's grey Persian cat, Wilford, was curled up and purring beside Davis, happily kneading his claws on the blanket.

"Rise and shine, gorgeous," Carl said, leaning down to kiss his forehead. Davis stirred, stretching as well as he could with the chain looped through his collar and around the O-ring in the floor, and gave Carl a sleepy smile. "You know, the chain is long enough that you could have slept _on_ the bed instead of next to it."

"What fun would that be, sir?" Davis murmured, his voice husky and rough from the strain he'd put on it last night. Carl smiled fondly down at him, curled up on the blanket, and ran a hand through his tousled blonde hair. _All that hollering and carrying on. Such a diva - worse than any brat I've ever met. It's a good thing we split up all those years ago, or else I would have killed him by now._

"Angela's made breakfast, if you're up for it. But I have a proposal."

"I do." Davis grinned at Carl's eye roll. "But it is kind of illegal in this state, sir."

"You're asking for a reprise of last night? Already?" Carl glanced at the tools - cleaned, he noted with approval - laid out on the table, and sighed at Davis' low chuckle. _Fucking incorrigible. I'm going to have to call Tess for advice. _"I really need to find you a lover. I don't have time to give you what you need."

"High maintenance doesn't begin to cover it, sir," Davis said, with a shameless grin. He sat up, gingerly moving sore limbs, and turned his head to inspect the lash marks on his legs and back. "Though I must say your aim is improving. Look at the spacing. It's like a work of art."

"I don't think we can display that one in the waiting room, though," Carl said, touching the welts on Davis' lower back. "I've seen that before, though, at Tessera. A live frame. It's really something else."

"Mmmm," Davis said, his blue eyes twinkling. "I really need to make time to fly down there some weekend. Knowing her, she's got exactly the kind of fetish rooms I like."

"Of course she does." Carl reached over to the table for the tube of antibiotic cream and gently applied some to the welts that had broken the skin. Davis didn't even make a sound. _Probably still flying on endorphins. _"Back to my proposal. Check out page five, at the bottom." He tossed the newspaper down on the floor next to Davis. The narrow chain made a subtle sound against the floor as he shifted to unfold the paper. _He really would make a lovely picture._

"Jesus Christ," Davis muttered, reading the article. He looked up at Carl, his smile gone. "What do you want me to do, sir?"

"It's not you. It's all of us." He tapped the paper with one finger. "I thought we could attend the memorial. Show our respects."

"Oh, honey." Davis' eyes widened, and Carl felt his cheeks heating. "Sorry. Sir. You know that's a terrible idea."

"Yes... Angela said the same thing." He sat down on the floor and let Davis put a naked arm around his shoulder. "It's because she'll be there," he added.

Davis nodded. "But I'm certain you can come up with better, less obvious ways to watch her grow up than stalking funerals, sir."

Carl sighed. "I haven't said one word about her to Puck, or Finn. I've been... very good."

"And you'll keep being good, if you want to work in this town, sir," Davis stressed. "We agreed you would keep it quiet. You _don't_ want to move again."

"No," he agreed soberly. "I like this house. And I'll put up with Lima for her sake. But..." He gave a bitter smile. "I also like those kids. I do. I wish we could just... be there for them."

"We will, sir," Davis said, squeezing his shoulder. "In our way. Just not out there. They'll come to us, and we'll help them."

Carl smiled sadly at his partner. "You're right, of course. Brat."

"You love me that way," Davis said, kissing his cheek. "Now, I seem to recall you owe me a spanking before breakfast. Sir."

* * *

><p>Kurt climbed out of the limousine with a groan. He'd pay for wearing his dress shoes to the cemetery in this snow. It had been a long memorial, longer than he'd expected, with far more people attending than he'd ever thought Ruth Puckerman even knew. People had spoken on her behalf, said <em>kind<em> things. About _her. _It was hard to swallow.

Sarah had disappeared, but he'd barely had time to worry about her, and was relieved when Frances appeared out of nowhere, wearing shoes even less practical than his. She'd gone, somewhat unwillingly, to be where Sarah was, and they'd appeared at the back of the synagogue halfway through the service, clutching each other's hands like they were floatation devices.

But Noah still hadn't arrived. It had been a long sleepless night for Kurt, and he'd gone upstairs at 2 am to sit at the table, and his dad had appeared shortly thereafter and had sat beside him while he cried silently. Then his dad had made him warm milk, spiced with cinnamon - how he'd known to do it like that, Kurt had no idea, and it had made him cry all over again - and put him back to bed like he was six years old.

Finn had stood by him throughout the whole ceremony, shadowing him like a bodyguard, and Kurt was as grateful for that presence as he'd ever been for anything in his life. It was as though Finn being next to him was giving him strength. He didn't even need to touch him.

The whole Glee club was there, too, lending their support, and he'd been hugged more times than he could count. His dad was holding up remarkably well, considering this probably felt dangerously, scarily familiar to him. Even Kurt had memories of his mother's funeral, and he guessed he'd probably have bad dreams about the whole thing, but for now he was holding up okay.

The burial was simple, but he didn't know what to do with the shovel that Sarah put in his hands. "You're supposed to throw dirt on top of her grave," she said.

_God._ "Do I have to?" he whispered, looking around at everyone's eyes on him.

"No," she said. "Here, I'll do it." She took the shovel back, dug into the pile of dirt that had been cleared from the hole in which Ruth's casket was suspended on cables, and flung a substantial shovelful onto the casket. It made a dramatic thudding noise, like a drum, and Kurt gasped involuntarily. Rachel started to cry.

Sarah passed the shovel to Finn, and he dug in grimly before handing it to Burt, and on down the line. Finally Kurt stepped forward and took the shovel from Tina.

"I'm ready now," he said.

He knew what the sound reminded him of now. It was the slap against flesh, the smack of a hand on his backside, or of his own hand on another's. But the impact of the dirt on the simple pine box had the opposite effect. Instead of forging a connection, it was severing one. Kurt felt it in his gut. _Noah should be here to do this, _he thought.

And when he walked away, as the crowd began to disperse, he saw him across the street, sitting in his truck, watching from the driver's seat. Kurt broke from the throng, running into the snow, heedless of his shoes, reaching out a hand. "Noah," he called desperately.

The truck peeled away from the curb, skidding in the snow, and Kurt caught a glimpse of Frances sitting in the passenger seat before it fishtailed and disappeared around the corner. He came to a halt in the middle of the street, and didn't even bother to hide his sobs. _Anyone who doesn't know what's going on by now just isn't paying attention,_ he thought viciously, and allowed his father to lead him away.

* * *

><p>"I saw him too," Finn said to Kurt, helping him out of the car. "He was there. He saw the whole thing. I think he was just waiting for everyone to leave so he could come pay his own respects."<p>

"I hope so," Kurt said, with a worried frown. He glanced up the sidewalk toward the synagogue, then paused. "Who's that?"

Finn looked to see an strange man standing by the double doors, hands in his pockets. He looked vaguely familiar, but Finn didn't recognize him - until he got close enough to see his eyes.

"Oh my god," Kurt whispered.

The man approached Burt hesitantly. "Is this Ruth Puckerman's memorial?"

"You missed it, buddy," Burt said. "Sorry. We just got back from the cemetery. Can I help you?"

"Maybe," he said. "How do you know Ruth?"

"Dad," Kurt said urgently. Burt glanced at him, startled, then back at the man. His eyes widened.

"I just wanted to come - I heard -" He took a step back. "Is Timmy here?"

"Did he call you?" Kurt's voice was tight and sharp, like a piano wire. "I can't believe it."

"Yeah," he said. "I know I'm not welcome. Timmy doesn't know I'm here. I don't - I don't think he wants to see me, either."

Burt took a slow step between the man and Kurt, but Finn put a hand on his shoulder. "Let me," he said. "You should go get Sarah back to the house." Burt's face went through several expressions before he finally nodded.

The man looked Finn up and down. He was short, shorter than Puck, but he had Timothy's narrow face, and what hair he had left was black and curly, like Sarah's. He didn't look anything like the imposing man Finn remembered from his youth.

"I'm Finn," he said, and he didn't hold out his hand. The man's mouth made a smile that was so familiar that Finn thought he might fall apart right there, but Finn held on to his sanity and just nodded. "I remember you."

"I remember you, too," said the man. "You were Noah's best friend."

"I was," said Finn.

The man looked over at Kurt with puzzlement, but when he saw Finn take Kurt's hand, his face cleared. "Is Noah here?" he asked. "I - I'd just really like to see him."

"He's not here," Kurt said. He was still angry, but Finn's hand in his seemed to be providing some source of calm. Conversely, as though they were equilibrating through their joined hands, Finn felt his energy level surge, and he fought to keep from glaring at Aaron Puckerman.

"Oh," he said, disappointed. "Well. You can - if you don't mind, you can tell him I said..."

"No," said Finn. "I'm not going to tell him anything. He's not even going to know you were here. You don't get to talk to him." He took one step toward the man, who stepped back, alarmed. "You don't deserve that."

"I - let me explain," he said, sounding a little desperate, and Finn recognized the tone. It was one with which he was intimately familiar. He tightened his mouth. _I know what you need,_ he thought, but there was no satisfaction in it. _And you're not going to get it from me._

"I don't think so," said Kurt. His chin was high, and he drew himself up, taller than the man, and took his own step forward. The man's eyes went back and forth between Finn and Kurt, and he backed up again, bumping against the concrete wall of the building behind him.

"Boys," he said, but that was all he got out before Kurt's fist came down on his jaw, knocking him sideways. Finn stood, stunned, as Kurt shook out his hand, wincing.

"You'd better get the hell out of here," he snapped. "I'm a bitchy queen when my boyfriend's at stake."

Aaron scrambled up from the ground, slipping in the slush, and shot one terrified look at the two of them before tearing down the sidewalk toward the parking lot. Finn didn't bother to watch him leave; he just swept Kurt into his arms, feeling him shaking, and held him, whispering, "Baby... it's okay, baby, you were good, you were so good..."

* * *

><p>Puck tried to be as quiet as he could as he opened the door from the garage, kicking off his dirty boots onto the concrete steps, but before he could even shoulder off his wet coat, Kurt was out of his room and beside him in the dark.<p>

"Sweetheart," he heard him say, and that was all, before their mouths connected and their hands were on each other. He was gasping, impossibly hard, and Kurt's fingers were fumbling desperately with the zipper of his jeans.

"I missed you so much," Kurt moaned against his neck, and slid his hands under Puck's shirt, slipping it over his head and tossing it to the floor. "You're freezing."

"You'll warm me up," Puck said, letting himself be led into the bedroom, chafing his hands together while Kurt stripped off his jeans and wet socks.

"I saw you." Kurt sounded sad and hurt, and Puck hated that, but he didn't think there was anything he could do about it, not tonight. "At the cemetery. Why did you run?"

The girl, Sarah's friend, had asked the same thing. "I don't exactly know," he said. "I didn't want to be there at the same time everybody else was. It felt way too fucking much like being on display. And yeah, I like that, but today I just wanted it to be us. I wish I could have just been there with you and me and Finn." He sighed, settling under the duvet. "That's what I wanted."

"We can go back tomorrow," Kurt promised. "Just the three of us."

"Okay," Puck said, feeling the lie pass through his lips, like a needle, pricking him. Kurt didn't notice. It was easy to ignore the lie and lose himself in Kurt's body, there under the covers, like mirrors of each other, one dark, one fair, equally matched in their passion. He loved the way Kurt sounded, unrestrained, not worrying about anything but the feeling of Puck's skin against him.

"Inside me," Kurt insisted, placing the bottle of lube in Puck's hand. "Please. I need you."

Puck had nothing to say to that but to press Kurt's body down against the bed, to sweep the covers back to make room for him between his legs, and to use his tongue and fingers in equal measures to prepare him. It was the most exquisite feeling to slide inside him, still chilly from the winter air, and to be shocked by the unbelievable heat of his body.

"Baby," he groaned, kneeling closer, gathering him up and plunging into him again and again. "I need this, too - need you, so much."

Kurt let himself arch back onto the bed, calling Puck's name, his _real_ name, the one that Kurt had given him back. _I'll never forget this,_ he thought, feeling the regret pour out of him. _This time. This last time together._

They lay twined under the duvet, warming each other into drowsiness, and Puck even dozed a little before Kurt fell asleep.

At 3 am, he climbed out from under the blankets and dug into his drawer for a clean shirt and underwear. The rest of the contents of the drawer, he emptied into his duffel bag. He got the toothbrush from the bathroom, and his clippers, and threw them in on top. After a moment, he opened one of Kurt's drawers and chose a shirt that wasn't too girly, and he put that in, too.

Puck got his guitars from the guest room, opening the case to his Taylor, and sat at the foot of Kurt's bed, watching him sleep. The dry air of the basement wasn't good for his tuning, but he managed something passable, and strummed once through the chords of Kurt's and Finn's song before he began to sing. He couldn't do the descant the way he'd written it, but he could sing them one right after the other. It was his last chance to sing this song, _his song,_ for Kurt, and he wasn't going to miss it.

_Cool on the outside yet trembling inside  
><em>_Wanting to run but there's nowhere to hide  
><em>_Dancing with your smile, though I drown in your eyes  
><em>_Can't resist or ignore, however I try_

_Leading me to ecstasy while leading me astray  
><em>_Thought I'd lost all direction when you showed me the way  
><em>_I convince myself I shouldn't then my soul says I should  
><em>_This twisting romance will come to no good_

_I gasp for breath from your sensuous touch  
><em>_the explosion of uncertainty is hurting too much  
><em>_The strangest sensation, how odd is this notion  
><em>_That one kiss could be full of such fear and emotion_

_These feelings aren't right, all I know is they're true  
><em>_I'm a fallen angel who's landed with you  
><em>_My heart skips a beat that lasts for so long  
><em>_you're my right kind of wrong_

_Sing our song,  
><em>_you are music inside me.  
><em>_Your voice rising, reaching,  
><em>_notes falling  
><em>_like a bead of sweat  
><em>_dripping down my neck.  
><em>_Your melody burns deep  
><em>_into my soul;  
><em>_only music exists.  
><em>_Sing to me._

Puck sang as quietly as he could, not wanting to wake him. He didn't think he could handle the questions, or Kurt listening, not just then.

He dug into his bag and took out a CD, and a letter, and set both of them on Kurt's desk. Then he made his way in the dark up the stairs to the kitchen. He figured he'd have to intrude on Burt's privacy in order to talk to him, but he was awake, sitting in the moonlight at the table, looking like he'd aged five years overnight. Puck imagined he looked much the same.

"I can't believe I'm saying this," said Burt, turning his mug over and over in his hands, "and it sounds a little creepy even in my head, but I'm gonna say it anyway: I never thought I'd be so happy to hear my son's boyfriend in his bedroom."

Puck didn't smile. "You're right," he said, "that does sound a little creepy. But thanks."

"You were missed today," Burt said. He looked hard at Puck. "I know you had a reason for being gone, but I can't say any of us felt good about it."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't think I can ask for forgiveness, though. It's something I needed to do."

Burt nodded slowly. "Yeah. Like I said, I figured."

"I need to ask you for something," he said.

Burt went on nodding, as though he knew what Puck was going to say.

"Sarah," he said. "I need you to take care of her."

"Puck," Burt said, like he had more to say, but Puck cut him off.

"I can't stay," he said, and suddenly he was closer to tears than he'd been in the last 48 hours, right on the verge, and he thought, _if I let myself go now, I'm never going to stop crying._ "I can't stay and I need to know - I need to know that she's going to be okay. That somebody will be here, taking care of her."

Burt put his hand across the table, reaching right for Puck's. It was warm, and if not large, then definitely strong. "You don't even have to ask," he said, his voice gruff. "This is her home, if she wants it to be. And yours."

"It's not my home," said Puck quietly. "I thought it might be, once, but it's not. I can't live here."

"Maybe..." Burt paused, then sighed. "All right."

They stood, together, and Burt came around to the other side of the table. He grabbed Puck in a tight embrace.

"Thank you for understanding... for _getting_ me," Puck whispered.

Burt's eyes were wet as he watched Puck walk out the door, but he didn't stop him. Puck got into his truck and drove to his next locale.

There was no way he'd be able to climb Finn's roof in this snow, so he slipped in through the sliding glass door off the back deck, which he knew was never locked. The house was dark and quiet. He carried his guitar up the stairs to Finn's room.

Puck knew he could have played Finn's drums and probably Finn would have kept on sleeping, but he kept it quiet nonetheless.

_I wanna go home  
><em>_This is not a house I can live in  
><em>_I need space of my own  
><em>_This is not a place I feel free in_

_I'm anchored in water that's over my head  
><em>_I'm filled up and choking from the lines I've been fed  
><em>_I suppose I could suffer  
><em>_I'm leaving instead_

_I gotta be me  
><em>_I gotta make sure that I can remember  
><em>_How to be real  
><em>_Gonna mail myself return to sender_

_I'm tied up so tight that I'm torn at the seams  
><em>_I'm drifting off course of my visions and dreams  
><em>_If I had the guts, I'd be down on my knees_

_I wanna go home  
><em>_There ain't nothin' here that can keep me  
><em>_I made a place of my own now  
><em>_And the seeds that I've thrown rooted deeply_

_I'm anchored in water that's over my head  
><em>_I'm filled up and choking from the lines I've been fed  
><em>_I suppose I could suffer  
><em>_I'm leaving instead_

Puck pulled a letter, but no CD, out of his bag and left it on Finn's desk.

He paused next to Finn's sleeping form and leaned over his face, feeling his breath on his mouth. "I fucking love you," he said, and kissed him, fiercely, passionately. Finn responded in his sleep, moaning in response, but Puck turned away before he could wake, closing the door behind him.

Halfway down the stairs, he heard, "You're leaving," and he turned to see Sarah at the end of the hall, standing in the door to the guest room.

"Yeah," he said.

She approached him, put a hand on his chest. "You're not coming back," she said.

"No," he said.

Sarah wrinkled her eyebrows and made a sour face. "That _sucks."_

"Yeah," he agreed. "Burt said you could stay with him. It could be your home."

"Really?" For a moment, her face lightened. Then she scowled again. "Why can't it be yours too?"

"Because I don't know where my home is," he said. "I've got to go find it. I just know it's not here."

"Okay," she said, because she _got_ him, too.

"I love you, squirt," he said. He squashed her in his arms, as tight as he could squeeze, because he knew she loved that.

"Come back when you can?" She sounded hopeful.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm not sure when that'll be."

"It's okay. I'll be waiting."

She wasn't crying, and neither was he, but he could feel their hearts parting, stretching thin between them like gossamer, and finally splitting with a snap. It was more painful than anything else he'd done that night.

The sky was starting to move from black to hazy gray as he stopped at Pat's Donuts and Kreme for coffee. He bought a half-dozen blueberry and a half-dozen peanut cake donuts.

"Puckerman," he heard, and it was fucking _Sue Sylvester_ standing next to him in line. He did the only thing he could do. He grinned.

"Hey," he said. "What are you doing up so early?"

"Why else?" she said, taking her bag of donuts and her own coffee. "It's the only time I can find for myself, when I'm not being hounded by munchkins. You and your little friends aren't the most important thing in the world, even though you seem to think you are."

He couldn't help himself: he had to ask. "What kind of donuts do you have?"

"My favorite kind," she said, firmly. "I was sorry to hear about your mother, Noah."

He nodded. "Thanks."

He called his last stop as soon as he was back in the car. It rang a long while, and there was a fumbling sound once he did pick up, but his "Hello?" was absolutely Mr. Schue.

"It's Puck," he said. "I'm heading out of town, and I was hoping to see you before I left."

"Puck?" Mr. Schue sounded like he was waking up a little at a time. "Are you okay? We didn't see you at the funeral yesterday."

"I'm okay," Puck lied. It was an easy lie. "Can I come by? I have donuts."

Mr. Schue was waiting on the porch of his apartment complex when Puck pulled up in the parking lot, shivering in the early dawn. He held the door open for Puck, looking worried.

"What's going on, Puck?" he said, escorting him up the stairs. "You're heading out of town? Is this about your mother?"

"Not really," said Puck, because the ways in which it _was_ about that were hard to describe. "I just wanted to talk to you before I left. I'm not sure when I'll be back."

"Come in," he said, though there wasn't really much of a place to go in his tiny apartment. Puck sat down at the dining table and took a sip of his coffee, handing Mr. Schue the donuts.

"Blueberry cake," said Mr. Schue, taking one. "My favorite."

"I kind of figured," Puck said, trying not to smirk.

They sat in silence for a moment while Mr. Schue watched him eat his donut. "Kurt," said Mr. Schue, "uh, Kurt and Finn..."

"Yeah," said Puck. He gestured vaguely past Mr. Schue. "And you and Toby."

"Uh," said Mr. Schue, blushing. "Yes, that's right."

"I read his letter to you," he said. "I'm sorry about that." Another lie. He wasn't sorry, though he supposed he should be. Mr. Schue was beet red now.

"It's okay," he said quietly.

Puck played with the rim of his coffee cup. "So I'm heading out west, and I know Toby's out there somewhere. Boulder?"

"Denver," he said, with a smile. "I just got back myself. You think you might need a place to crash? I can call him."

"I need to play, Mr. Schue," said Puck. "I need to play my guitar. Like, a lot. I kind of get the idea it's not going to get any better. Maybe I could find a place out there in Denver to play... an open mic or something?"

"Let me give him a call," he said. "He's probably still awake. He's a terrible night owl, and it's two hours earlier there."

Toby was indeed still awake, and apparently aware of an excellent open mic in just two days time. "He says he'll meet you there," said Mr. Schue, scribbling down the address and handing it to Puck. "I'm glad you're not going to be alone. Traveling across country all by yourself - I don't feel good about it."

"I don't, either," Puck said. That wasn't a lie, at least. "But I think I have to do it anyway."

He bid Mr. Schue farewell, climbed into his truck, and pointed himself west on I-80.

* * *

><p>Kurt woke from a pleasant dream to find himself alone in his bed, the space beside him cold. He was almost dressed by the time he found the CD and the letter on his desk. He hesitated, a sick feeling in his stomach, but eventually he ripped the letter open and read it first.<p>

_Kurt,_

_This song is the one I told you I was writing for you. I didn't know it was going to be a real song until you and Finn went on your date. That's when I did the lyrics. Maybe the two of you together inspired me, I don't know. Anyway, this is Mercedes and me singing, and Brad on the piano. _

_I've never been good at saying goodbye, so I hope this is good enough. _

_Love,  
><em>_Noah_

He read it over three times, trying to make sense of it, and then he took the CD with trembling fingers and slid it into the CD player. There was no talking; the only track on it could have been a professional recording, except it was Noah, _his_ Noah, doing the singing. And the lyrics broke his heart.

He didn't know what to do except listen, and cry.

* * *

><p>Finn woke later in the morning, but he saw the letter right away. It wasn't as though he looked at his desk every day, either, but for some reason it leapt to his attention.<p>

_Finn,_

_I'll already be gone by the time you read this, but I wanted you to know I came by last night and said goodbye. I can't stay at Kurt's, and I can't stay at your place. Neither one is home. I'm trying to figure out where home is. _

_I told you once that you were my missing piece. I still feel like that, but I think I need to figure out how to become my own missing piece. For my daughter, I have to do this. I don't think I can come back until I've discovered how to do it on my own. _

_I'll never forget you._

_Yours,  
><em>_Puck_

Finn sank down onto his bed, clutching the letter. Then he closed the door to his room. He didn't come out for the rest of the day.

* * *

><p><em>I'm working on a morning flight to anywhere but here<br>__I'm watching this evening fire burn away my tears  
><em>_All my life I've left my troubles by the door  
><em>_'Cause leaving is all I've ever known before_

_It's not the way you hold me when the sun goes down  
><em>_It's not the way you call my name that left me stranded on the ground  
><em>_It's not the way you'll say you'll hear my heart when the music ends  
><em>_I am just learning how to fly away again_

_And maybe you were thinking that you thought you knew me well  
><em>_But no one ever knows the heart of anyone else  
><em>_I feel like Garbo in this Late Night Grande Hotel  
><em>'_Cause living alone is all I've ever done well_

_It's not the way you hold me when the sun goes down  
><em>_It's not the way you call my name that left me stranded on the ground  
><em>_It's not the way you'll say you'll hear my heart when the music ends  
><em>_I am just learning how to fly away again_

_- Nanci Griffith, "Late Night Grande Hotel"_


	27. Chapter 27

_Author's note: I had some requests for the name of the song that Puck sang to Finn in his bedroom before leaving. That was Chicago 3 AM by Kristen Hall. Kristen Hall's songs have soundtracked Puck's leaving from the beginning, and I'm very pleased to have them be part of his repertoire. The two songs in the last scene are also Kristen Hall: I Don't Need You Anyway, and Truth Hurts (Don't It?). None of them are currently on Youtube, but I'll work on that._

_Oh, and let me know what you think of the Karofsky here. He's a lot more sympathetic than the Karofsky we've seen so far in the Donutverse. Must be all the Gold Mine I've been writing. _

_-amy_

* * *

><p>Dave was pretty sure no one else saw him as he approached Matt's house from the back door. It was easy enough to park two blocks over and wander through the neighbor's yards. Chances were, nobody would think twice about two football players hanging out together, but after what he'd found out about Puckerman and Hudson, he didn't want to take any chances.<p>

_Jesus. Puck and Finn. _It had blown his mind when he'd first heard them. It was just his luck that the wall of the physics lab was lined with air ducts that made sound carry absurdly well from the janitor's closet on the other side. He'd been doing his independent study in the nice quiet lab when he'd heard Finn's voice, and then Puck's, and then _Kurt's,_ saying things he never thought he'd hear them say to each other.

Dave scowled, turning up his collar to the blowing early morning snow. It pissed him off that those words had followed him into his dreams, and there was nothing he could do about _that, _other than change his sheets. He didn't want to think about it for a long time, but ever since he and Z had shoved Kurt into that locker, the dreams had taken on a distinctly ominous edge. He wished, not for the first time, or even the tenth, that they'd never done that. It had felt like they'd crossed a line.

He was glad he'd found Coach Sylvester there when he'd come back to the school an hour later, fraught with guilt. It had been easy enough to drop a casual comment about hearing something down in the hallway by the chemistry lab. Kurt had turned up at school on Monday, looking unharmed, and Dave had been glad. Not glad enough not to throw those three slushies, but glad, nonetheless.

The back door slid noiselessly under the gentle pressure of Dave's hand. He'd gotten good at sneaking in before Matt's parents were awake. It was a Saturday, though, and he wasn't sure how early Matt's family woke up on weekends. The fear of getting caught was kind of an added bonus.

"I didn't think you were coming over today," he heard, and he whipped his head around, suddenly tense - but he relaxed when he saw Matt's smile. He didn't smile back.

"Brought donuts," he said in a whisper. "You'll never guess who I saw there this morning."

"You're not going to make me guess, dude," said Matt, lifting the chair carefully away from the table and setting it back down, so the legs wouldn't make any noise on the wooden floor. He sat down and took the bag.

"Maybe we should take those into your room?" Dave glanced down the hall where he knew Matt's parents' room was. Matt's low chuckle made his gut clench.

"In a hurry?" he said, watching Dave blush. Dave blushed more easily than anybody else he knew, and he hated that about himself.

"I don't want your parents to come out here and see us -"

"What? Eating some fucking donuts?" Matt pulled a glazed donut out and handed it to Dave. He rummaged in the bag until he found the one he was looking for, a blueberry jelly. Dave couldn't stand the texture of the jelly in that kind of donut, but he had to admit it was hilarious to watch Matt eat them so messily and enthusiastically. "What's the big deal about that?"

"Whatever." Dave ate his glazed donut slowly, licking off his fingers, feeling the tension mounting between them. He never could have articulated this to Matt, but this was almost the best part of their relationship: the long, drawn-out anticipation between times they were together. He didn't spend any time thinking about it consciously, usually _couldn't,_ without making himself sick, but it was always in the back of his mind.

"So who _did _you see? Don't leave me in suspense."

"Oh - it was Coach Sylvester, and Puck."

"What? _Together?"_ Dave loved Matt's stupid look when he made a connection that didn't work for him. Very Neanderthal. He grinned at him.

"No, dumbass. Puck was getting donuts and heading out of town. He's totally bailing."

"Whoa." Matt took another donut with a concerned frown. "I feel so bad about his Ma. Things were tense for him, and his sister, a couple weeks ago. He's going through some serious shit. And then the fight with Finn - it was bad, man."

Dave wished, not for the first time, that he was the kind of guy who could out somebody. But he couldn't do it, not even to a self-righteous little prick like Kurt Hummel. His own secret was bad enough to hang on to. He couldn't even imagine how the three of them were managing it. The familiar conflicting feelings of impressed and jealous rang through him as he watched Matt eating his second donut.

"I heard about the fight," Dave said. "Pretty brutal."

Matt nodded. "Yeah. They've been friends, like, forever."

That wasn't true, though, and Dave knew it better than anyone. Finn had been _his_ best friend, back in second and third grade, before Noah had moved down the street and Finn started playing over there more often. It was hard to think about the Dave he'd been then, and then look at the Dave of now, the one who drew on Finn's face with Sharpie marker and strategically positioned himself around the corner from the locker room to throw the slushie _just_ as he was coming _out_ of the shower.

"Come on," he said irritably. "I've got to get home and shovel the driveway."

Matt crumpled up the bag and threw it across the room into the trash can as they made their way down the hall toward Matt's room. "Three pointer!" he called.

"Shhhh," Dave hissed. He looked one more time down the hall as they disappeared behind Matt's door. All clear. He'd survived another day.

* * *

><p>"Finn, you have to come out sometime."<p>

She'd said it three times now, since he'd started paying attention. He could have counted the knocks on the door, the number of times she'd said his name. The hurt in her voice could have filled a bathtub.

He couldn't bring himself to care.

Finn turned the letter over in his hand and felt the grooves in the paper where Puck's pen had made little divots. He'd never been the most graceful writer. In third grade when they'd learned to write in cursive, he'd been in the lowest handwriting group. Finn had loved learning to write the capital cursive _F,_ so elegant, like a swan, with the curve sticking out into the air. He'd felt bad that Noah only had a boring old _N._ But Noah had been too busy doodling inappropriate pictures on the margins of his paper to actually do his cursive. Eventually he'd left his book out in the rain in Finn's backyard. He still couldn't write cursive - the letter was written in print.

He folded the letter up and tucked it back into the envelope and left it on his bed. It was starting to snow again. He wondered if the roads were bad outside. He hoped Puck had put the snow tires on his truck before he'd headed out of town.

Finn stretched, the muscles of his ribs hurting from all the time he'd spent crying earlier that day. He was done with that now. His bladder was starting to feel uncomfortably full, but he didn't think he was ready to brave that hallway and his mother and Sarah and everything.

The box in the corner read _Aaron,_ and Finn remembered going to pick it up from Puck's house. He'd said there was music in it. Slowly he dragged the box over to sit between his knees on the floor. It was _heavy._

The first thing he pulled out was a manilla folder of sheet music. It was hand-written, almost certainly none of it finished, but there was a lot of it. Finn didn't recognize the handwriting, so he figured it must be Puck's dad's. He set that aside; even on his best day he had a hard time reading anything other than rhythms.

The next thing was a large, square, flat case with a disc inside, a black disc with grooves on it. Finn knew it was a record, though he'd never actually seen one played, and he couldn't quite get how they worked. This one had a picture of a brooding, dark-haired guy looking through a set of bars. The title was _Tap Root Manuscript. _ Neil Diamond. Puck's dad loved Neil Diamond. Finn had only heard the ones Puck had played for him, and he guessed they were okay songs.

The box was full of records, and all of them were Neil Diamond, over twenty of them. _This guy made a lot of fucking music._ Finn's hand rummaging in the box came up with a differently-shaped box next, a smaller square. A CD case, containing two CDs - unmarked, but he was pretty sure what they would hold.

_What the hell._ Finn opened the lid on his CD boom box and slid one of the CDs inside.

The song had a good beat, definitely very sixties, but Finn listened with interest to the percussion part. But the lyrics snuck up on him and hit him over the head with what felt like a big hammer, and after that he just lay on the bed and let them wash over him.

_Melinda was mine  
><em>_'Til the time  
><em>_That I found her  
><em>_Holding Jim  
><em>_Loving Him  
><em>_Then Sue came along  
><em>_Loved me strong  
><em>_That's what I thought  
><em>_Me and Sue  
><em>_But that died too_

_Don't know that I will  
><em>_But until I can find me  
><em>_The girl who'll stay  
><em>_And won't play games behind me  
><em>_I'll be what I am  
><em>_A solitary man  
><em>_Solitary man_

_Death by Neil Diamond,_ Finn thought in a daze by the fourth track, wiping away the unexpected tears. _It wouldn't be the worst way to go._

* * *

><p>Burt watched Kurt reach for his pocket for the tenth time, and all he had to say was, "Kurt."<p>

"I wasn't going to call," Kurt said, and his voice was sullen. "I just - I was just going to check."

"He hasn't called. He's not ready." Burt stood and walked across the room again, sitting restlessly on the edge of the couch. "He's not going to call, not yet. We have to leave him alone."

"I just want to know if he's safe," Kurt protested. He hadn't even bothered to get dressed today, Burt thought with a pang of sadness. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Kurt in sweats and a t-shirt. _Oh yes, it had been the time Finn hadn't come over. Just what my son needs: more people to make him cry. _

"He needs us to give him space more than we need to know if he's safe." Burt made a face at Kurt. "Do you know how hard it was not to call _you_ every ten minutes when you and Puck drove down to Dayton? In a snowstorm, no less?"

"That's different, Dad. We were together. And you knew where we were going." He focused his red-rimmed eyes on his mug, milk long since gone cold. "And when we'd... be back."

Both of them jumped as Kurt's phone rang, but even Burt recognized the ringtone wasn't the one Kurt had selected for Puck. Kurt glanced at the screen. "It's Carole," he said, and answered it. "Hello? Hey... yes, we're doing the same." Kurt turned hopeful eyes at Burt. "Sarah wants to come over."

"Of course," he said, holding out his hand for the phone. Not that he'd deny Kurt anything right now. If Kurt had asked him for tickets to fly to California to see Lady Gaga, right at this moment, he would have said _of course._

"Sarah's wanting to see Kurt," Carole said, and even in the midst of all the craziness, her voice made him smile.

"You can both come over," Burt said.

"I think I might, just for a little while." She sighed, long and resigned. "Finn's not coming out of his room any time soon."

It was less than ten minutes before the door to the garage opened, and Sarah was in Burt's arms before anybody could say one word.

"He's okay," Burt said, holding her as hard as he dared. Kurt touched her shoulder, and they could both feel her shaking inside, but her eyes were dry when she pulled back.

"We brought Chinese," Sarah said.

They ate it on the green couch in front of the television, watching Doris Day pretend to aim a rifle in _Calamity Jane, _Sarah snuggled up on one side of Burt and Carole on the other, neither of them shying away from contact. Not today. _Maybe not ever again,_ Burt thought. It seemed so trivial, so pointless to pretend that these people had not come to mean so much to him. There was no way he would have ever told Kurt that sixteen-year-olds couldn't fall in love. He thought he knew what Kurt was feeling, or something close to it, anyway.

"Did you try calling?" Sarah asked.

"My dad wouldn't let me," Kurt replied, wrapped head to toe in a blanket in the corner of the couch, just his hand reaching out every now and then to take another steamed dumpling.

She nodded understanding. "Smart. Noah'd just get pissed off. He'll call."

Carole stood after the movie was over, gathering up the foam containers. "I'm going to head back to the house," she said, and kissed Burt. It was definitely a mark of how upset Kurt was that he didn't even bother to roll his eyes. "Finn's been listening to Neil Diamond for the past three hours. Don't ask me where he got it."

"God," Burt said. "You'd better hide the razors."

"Already did," she said. He could tell she was worried, even through the easy banter, and he gave her one more hug.

"Call me if you need anything," he murmured.

Kurt and Sarah ended up falling asleep there on the couch, and Burt just got the quilt from the guest room and covered her up. _I don't know the first thing about girls,_ he thought ruefully, touching her hair. _Kurt's childhood notwithstanding. This is a whole new ball game. _He hoped he was up for it. The last thing Sarah needed was another failed parent.

* * *

><p>Kurt's phone had five calls on it when he woke up on the green couch the next morning, but none of them were from Puck or Finn. Mercedes had called, and Tina, and Britt. His dry cleaning was ready to be picked up.<p>

The last one was from Brad. "Come over for dinner tonight," said the message. "The kids can distract you, and we can play some piano. Bring Puck's sister, if you want, and Finn."

When Kurt went over to Carole's, she shook her head. "He's still not coming out," she said. "He must be sneaking out to use the bathroom or something. I literally haven't seen him in over 24 hours."

"I brought some replacement angst music," Kurt said. "The Neil Diamond's going to wear thin after a time. Can I try to give it to him?"

Finn wouldn't open the door, and it was locked when Kurt tried to open it. He knew he could have forced his way in, but he wasn't going to do that.

"It's me," he said quietly. There was no music playing then. Kurt couldn't hear anything. Finn might have been asleep. He sighed. "I have some more of Noah's music... the band who wrote that song he sang for us, that first night. I thought... well, when I'm feeling sad, I like to listen to them." He put a hand on the door. "I'll just leave it here."

He set the Indigo Girls compilation on the floor by the door, half hoping that Finn would hear him leaving and come out. If it had been a television show, or a movie, it would have been perfect timing. He could have taken him in his arms, held him close, told him how much he loved him. But the door stayed closed, and there was no sound from within. _He's not ready, either, _Kurt thought.

It was very nice, being at Brad's. Laurie made an excellent dinner. The kids did indeed distract him; he read six books to Duncan and Cory before they had to go to bed, including the Missing Piece once, and he was proud to be able to get through the whole thing without crying. He and Brad played some easy duets, and he made some progress in the Chopin Nocturne. Afterwards he felt a little clearer, a little less sore inside.

"You holding up okay?" Brad asked, when they were done.

Kurt wasn't sure how to answer, but he nodded. "I'd feel a lot better if I could just know that he was safe."

"Well... " Brad paused. "I'm thinking I might be able to help with that. Will said Puck stopped by his house before he got on the road yesterday. Will set him up to meet with Toby tonight at the open mic." He sighed at Kurt's expression. "Don't get your hopes up. He might not even be there by now."

"I understand," Kurt said, restraining the wild leaping in his chest. "It's the best chance I have, though."

* * *

><p>Toby found a table in the back of the coffeehouse where no one was sitting and pulled out a chair, setting down his dance bag and the attaché he carried to school - Will always winced when he called it his man-purse. His phone buzzed and he glanced at it, smiling at the waitress as she cruised by. He held up one finger to flag her down.<p>

"Could I get a sugar-free double caramel latte, skim, no whip, Esther?" he said, his usual coffee order tripping off his tongue. He'd been ordering the same drink every day for the past fifteen years, and it suited him as well at night as in the morning, with one modification: "Decaf," he amended.

"Sure, Toby," Esther said. "Anything else?"

"Whatever that young fellow is having," he said, pointing out the boy with the mohawk in the front by the stage. "I'll take care of his tab."

She raised one eyebrow. "Fishing in the kiddy pool these days?"

He smothered a laugh. "Darlin', if I wanted something that young, I wouldn't pick it up at the coffee house. No, he's visiting from out of town, on his way through to Santa Fe."

"That sounds more like the Toby I know," she said, relaxing. "Anyway, my gaydar screams _straight."_

"You might want to have that checked," he murmured, grinning, and she sighed. "Far as I know, he's got a taste for all kinds. But I don't think he's looking."

She eyed the boy, seeing his hunched shoulders, downcast eyes and crossed arms. "Yeah, I think you're right. Let me get your order. Enjoy the show, Toby."

"Thanks." His eyes were already back on Puck, wishing he knew more about his situation. The only thing Will had said was _He's hurting and he needs a place to stay. _And, of course, he loved Kurt, which was enough of a reason for Toby to want to help him.

He looked again at his phone and read the text, which was from Brad:

_Kurt wants to know that he's okay. Can you send a picture or something?_

He responded, clumsily typing on the tiny keyboard (Toby preferred his mobile conversations in audio): _He's here, and he's alive. That's all I know so far. I'll give a better update after I see him sing._

_He's really bugging out, Toby. Give him something._

Toby pursed his lips and wandered over to the water cooler in the front of the coffee shop, walking directly past Puck's table. He wasn't reading, or drinking or eating. He was just sitting there, his guitar case closed, staring at the wall. He looked exhausted, which made sense if he'd been driving for two days. He also looked pissed.

Toby was not a subtle man, but he managed to pretend to be checking his phone while he took a picture of Puck, making sure to show his expression. Then he got a cup of water and went back to his seat. It took him the next five minutes to figure out how to send it as a text, and even then he had to ask for help from the college girls at the next table.

"Thanks," he said gratefully to the girls, as the picture flew off into the ether, winging its way to Brad and presumably to then to Kurt. He supposed, if it had been Will who'd suddenly disappeared, leaving only a cryptic note behind, he'd be desperate for proof that he was okay, too.

The first performer at the open mic was a small girl with dark hair and a sardonic expression. She reminded Toby of a young Andi, all bluster and snark, but clearly with a soft center. She sang well, starting with a funny song about alligators, followed by a more cryptic, mystical one that could have been about fairies and could have been about something else. Toby clapped for her with honest appreciation and sipped his coffee drink, waiting for the boy with the mohawk to climb the stage.

He was next. The announcer named him as Puck, which was the name everyone except Kurt seemed to call him - he couldn't remember the name Kurt had used_._ Puck scanned the audience with a closed expression and tight lips, nodding briefly at the polite applause. Then he sat, checked his tuning with a few harmonics, and began:

_Maybe I don't know too much  
><em>_I never claimed to be a genius  
><em>_I've made myself hard to touch  
><em>_Think I'll be alone for a long time  
><em>_Maybe I should've tried a little harder not to hide_

_I spend a lot of time thinking  
><em>_I never claimed to be a prophet  
><em>_I'm not good at nodding and winking  
><em>_I speak my mind if I have something to say  
><em>_Maybe I should've tried to keep a little more inside  
><em>_Maybe I should've tried a little harder not to hide_

His baritone voice was smooth and tuneful, and his guitar playing nearly flawless, but there was something in his manner, something in the way he sang the lyrics, that broke Toby's heart. He found himself biting back tears before the boy was halfway into the second verse, and Toby was not a man given to needless displays of emotion.

_I take some things for granted  
><em>_I never said that I was gracious  
><em>_My point of view can seem slanted  
><em>_Take me or leave me, I'm not changing a thing  
><em>_Maybe I should've tried to let a little more slide  
><em>_I crossed that river and the distance left between us is wide_

_I won't stand trial to your cynical smile  
><em>_I won't be told, railroaded, bought or sold  
><em>_I stood my ground even though you put me down and  
><em>_I don't need you anyway_

He spit out the words like they tasted bitter on his tongue, barreling through the chorus, as though he had something to prove. Perhaps he did.

A string broke as he entered the third verse. He didn't stop playing, just closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and called out, "Anybody got a spare E string?"

The girl who'd played first rummaged in her guitar case and came up with a roll of wire. "Here," she said, holding it up.

"Thanks," he said, and finished the song on five strings:

_I rub most people the wrong way  
><em>_I never claimed to be contagious  
><em>_I like to do things my own way  
><em>_Sounds slack but it saves me some time  
><em>_Maybe I should've tried to let a little bit more slide  
><em>_I burnt those bridges and the distance left between us is wide_

_I won't stand trial to your cynical smile  
><em>_I won't be told, railroaded, bought or sold  
><em>_I stood my ground even though you put me down and  
><em>_I don't need you anyway_

The room applauded as he quickly extracted the busted string from the bridge and slid the new string in, tightening it with long practice. "I owe you," he said to the girl, not smiling.

"You can buy me a drink," she said, grinning.

"No," he said. "I can't."

Her grin slipped from her face and she watched him in puzzled silence as he tuned the new string a second time and launched into another song. His face was stone, and every word carried the message loud and clear: _stay away._

_Well, don't hold your breath waiting for a word from me  
><em>_Cause I'm tired of talking; I'm sick of listening  
><em>_You don't seem to notice what you need most to see  
><em>_And all your small talk chatter is useless flattery_

_Well, you seem to think that you've got me figured out  
><em>_I'll tell you something, that's not what I'm about  
><em>_I don't want to know you; don't tell me your name  
><em>_And I don't need your company, if it's all the same_

_If it's all the same to you, I'll be alone  
><em>_If it's all the same to you, I'll drink alone  
><em>_If it's all the same to you, I'll go home alone  
><em>_If it's all the same_

The song ended as abruptly as it had begun. This time the applause was less, but he didn't seem to care; he just stood up, slipped his guitar into its case, and stalked off the stage, leaving his discarded E string behind.

Toby watched him walk out the door with mild alarm. "Esther," he said, frantically waving down the waitress.

She gestured for him to go. "You can pay tomorrow morning," she said. "Go on."

Toby took one more sip of his drink and followed Puck out the front door. At first he wasn't sure where he'd gone; he scanned the dark sidewalks for a single boy with a mohawk, which shouldn't have been too hard to find, but all he could see were couples walking together. Then he heard a small sound, and he followed it around the side of the building into the alley.

Puck was hunched over his knees, propped against the brick wall, heaving deep lungfuls of breath like he hadn't had any air for an hour. Toby's heart went out to him, but he stood back, giving him space to let it out. "Hey," he called, "you need anything?"

Puck glanced up, wiping his nose on his arm. "No," he said, his voice flat.

"Maybe a tissue?" Toby drifted a little closer, holding out the folded white square. "It's clean."

"Look, dude, I _really _don't want –"

"I have a message," Toby said. "From Kurt."

Puck's eyes went wide and he stared at Toby with shock and disbelief and desperate greed, like he was offering him a million dollars. "K-kurt?"

Toby pressed the tissue into his hand and waited while Puck wiped his eyes and blew his nose. His phone buzzed, and he glanced at it, then nodded. "Yeah. He says – well. Here." He handed the phone to Puck, and the boy read the text on the screen: _Kurt says can you tell him to just come home?_

Puck read the message, and his face crumpled. He blindly pushed the phone back to Toby and turned away, leaning on the wall, choking out, "I can't. I fucking can't."

"Okay," Toby soothed, and put a hand on his shoulder. The boy didn't flinch away, but he folded into himself, curling into a tight, shuddering ball. Toby knew what this felt like, and he just rubbed circles of comfort on his back, not pushing any further.

"I can't be there when he – he doesn't – _god dammit –"_ He roared out the last two words, a supplication, a condemnation.

"He loves you," Toby said, gently. "I know he does."

"Not Kurt." Puck shook his head and laughed, a hopeless sound. "I'm such an idiot. How can one awesome person not be enough for me?"

"What's going on, darlin'?" Toby made his voice as soft and welcoming as he could, and tugged on Puck's arm, hoping that wouldn't be too much. Puck turned and looked up at Toby, his face a miasma of pain, but still cautious even through that. _He's used to hiding,_ Toby thought. It had been a long time since Toby had had to do that, and he could see the toll it had taken on the boy.

"Who are you?" Puck asked.

"I'm a friend of Will and Brad. Your teacher," he added, in case the name _Will_ wasn't immediately recognizable. "We've been friends a long time."

Puck's expression immediately cleared. "You're Toby."

"Yeah," Toby said, smiling. "He's told you about me?"

"He told Kurt." He searched his face. "You – and _Mr. Schue?"_

"Is it that obvious?" Toby said, shaking his head. "Heh. I guess I'm not so good at this closet business."

Puck considered this. "He said – he's getting a divorce. Was that because of _you?"_

"No," said Toby. "But you can bet I'm gonna take advantage of it. We've known each other for almost twenty years. I've been waiting a long time for him." He looked hard at Puck. "I'm livin' proof, darlin', if you've got something good, you can't let it go. You've got to fight for it."

"I – I can't." Puck shook his head, looking at the ground. "He said… he doesn't want me." The last words were a whisper.

"Who said?"

"Finn," Puck said, and bit his lip. "Fuck. I can't even say his fucking _name_ without falling apart."

_Finn._ Toby considered what he knew of the boy as he picked up Puck's guitar case and guided him out of the alley to sit on a bench on the sidewalk. "Will said you and Finn, and Kurt-?"

"We are," Puck said. "I mean, we were. It was – the three of us."

"That's why Brad talked to you fellas."

"Yeah," Puck nodded. "He's been awesome."

Toby nodded. "I saw Kurt at Brad's house the other night. He mentioned something had happened."

"Kurt." Puck shook his head, letting it fall into his hands. "Fuck. I really fucked up."

"There's never anything broke so bad it can't be mended," Toby said, resting a hand on his back, and this time Puck leaned into it, letting Toby's arm circle his shoulders.

"I don't know, man," Puck said, with a shaky laugh. "This is pretty fucking broken."

"You want to get something to eat before you tell me the story, or just get it all out now?" Toby asked. "You might as well tell me. I'm a damn sight more stubborn than you."

Puck laughed again, and Toby felt his tension drop another notch. _Good._ "You sure you want to know? It's – a little weird."

"I'm hard to shock," Toby said. "But you can give it a try."

* * *

><p>Forty-five minutes and a trip to McCoy's later, Toby decided shocked wasn't quite the right word for how he felt. <em>Incredulous, maybe,<em> he thought, taking a bite of his omelette. _Impressed. A little frightened for him._

Puck was tucking into his second stack of pancakes. Toby had a hard time envisioning the tough kid in some of the situations he'd described. He knew he'd never be able to tell Will half this stuff. _Will - god. He'd flip his lid if he knew what these kids had been up to._

"Let me ask you this," Toby said, delicately picking the mushrooms out of his omelette and eating them first. "Kurt and Finn – they're still together."

"I guess so," Puck said. He didn't look quite so wrecked as he had, and the food had helped, but Toby could still see the hurt inside, radiating out like coals in a hot stove.

"But you said Kurt, he wasn't enough for you. That just being with him wasn't enough."

"It – it wasn't that it wasn't still great," Puck said, staring at his plate. "But it's always been the three of us, and – when we were together, any time it was just two of us, we knew we were missing a piece. Every time I looked at Kurt, I could see him wanting Finn there with us. And I wanted him, too."

Toby nodded. "I guess that makes sense," he said. "I ain't never had that, but I know how it is when you're missing someone and nothing will do but that one person."

Puck closed his eyes and nodded. "Yeah," he sighed.

"You – Finn was, um, in charge," he said, fishing for the right words. "He made the decisions for you."

"Sometimes," Puck said, and his back stiffened. "Sometime I made them for myself."

"But you put him in charge," Toby said. "Right? You wanted that?"

Puck nodded, looking uncertain. "I did." He knotted his hands together, and whispered, "I still do."

"But this decision he made – about your daughter." Puck's eyes flickered up to his, and he nodded again. "It wasn't the right one?" Puck shook his head. "And you went against his… instructions?"

"Worse. I told him I was going along with it, but I lied to him, on purpose. I lied and said I was done with her, that she wasn't going to be my kid. And then I went to my lawyer and signed the papers that said she _was_, and he – he bought it. He believed me." Puck's fingers turned white as he gripped them tighter.

"Why did you do that?"

"He told me I couldn't have her," he said belligerently. "He told me I had to choose between the two of them. I couldn't do that. I couldn't not have Finn... but I couldn't give her up either."

"Is that all?"

"This is going to sound awful," he said after a minute, "but... I guess I wanted to know if I could get away with it. Finn was – it was almost like he was too perfect. I was always knocking him down, taking things away from him, like I needed to throw him off balance to make sure he wasn't as perfect as he seemed to be."

"I think you wanted to feel powerful," Toby said. "You were taking the control back."

"But that's so fucking _stupid,_" Puck cried, his brow knotted in confusion. "Why would I do that? It'd be like shooting myself in the foot. He's always known what I needed and I trusted him to take care of me. Why was I fighting that?"

"You needed her to be yours," Toby said. He felt a twinge inside. "You would have done anything to hang on to that. She belongs to you."

"Yeah," Puck agreed. His lips relaxed into the first real smile Toby had seen on his face, a faint one, but a smile nonetheless. "I really was hoping we could – well, that me and Kurt and Finn, that we could –" He sighed and shook his head. "Now, I just don't know. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing."

"You don't always have to know," Toby said. "You can figure it out as you go. That's what most of us are doing all the time."

"I wish I could just – be whole, in myself," Puck said, with feeling. "That's why I left. If I spend enough time by myself, I could become my own missing piece. Then I wouldn't need anybody. I could just take care of everything myself and not have to depend on anybody else."

Toby set his credit card on the tray with the check without looking at it. "I don't know, darlin'," he said, shaking his head. "Sounds kind of lonely."

'It's better than hurting like _this,"_ Puck said, bitterly, and stuffed the last bite of pancake in his mouth. He chewed and glared at his cup.

"Is it?" Toby thought of the years of sleeping on the left side of the bed, filling it with random men to bury thoughts of Will. He thought of Colin, a good person, but not good enough. Not when he knew what he was missing. "You're never going to be satisfied with anything less than that, now that you know what you can have."

"Fuck." Puck's forehead hit his hands. He let it lie there, rolling it side to side. "That _sucks."_

"So now – you can keep driving," Toby said, gesturing down the road. "You can head off to Santa Fe. You have a young man there?"

"Kind of," Puck said, resting his head on his folded hands. "A triad. Alex, Daphne and Nicole."

"Ah," Toby nodded, trying not to look surprised. "Sure. So – they love you? You love them?"

"Yeah," Puck said. "But –" He shook his head.

"But it's not what you had with Kurt and Finn," Toby said gently.

Puck's lip trembled. "No."

"All right," said Toby. "So you can run, or you can go back and _stand up_ for what you want. Talk to Kurt and Finn. Tell them what you need. Don't be afraid to ask for everything." He listened to the words coming from his own mouth, and felt stronger for it. _Yes. This is what he needed to do._

"What if Finn says no?" Puck asked, pushing the empty sugar packet around with his finger. "What if he says he can't do it?"

"Don't give up," Toby urged. "You know how good it was. It was that good for him, too. He wants it as much as you do. He's just – scared." He thought of Will's face, loving him, saying _no_ so many times, even in the face of so much love. "You've got to make him see what he's missing."

"I don't know if I can go to school every day and see him there," Puck admitted. "I don't know if I can be there and watch him going through the motions if I can't have – what we had."

"That might be good enough, until Finn comes around and sees what he's missing."

The hope on Puck's face was heartbreaking. "You really think Finn's going to do that?"

"Darlin'," Toby said, reaching for Puck's hands, "if it's as good as you say, he'd be a fool not to. And Finn Hudson, he ain't no fool." He squeezed Puck's hands. "So what's it going to be? You going on? Or heading home?"

Puck licked his lips, and looked out the window, his eyes far away. Something was awake in his face, something Toby hadn't seen in the coffee shop. "I think – I think I need to at least stop in Santa Fe," he said. "But I think I'll head home after that. I'm ready to fight for this."

* * *

><p>When Toby woke the next day at noon, he found a plate of French toast dressed with peach syrup and decorated with berries and powdered sugar. Next to the plate was a note. It read: <em>I'm not going to give up.<em>

"Me neither, darlin'," Toby whispered. "You're worth it."

He called the number he'd been putting off dialing for the last four days, and put a bite of French toast in his mouth. It was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. "Shelby?" he said. "It's Toby."

"It's about time," she said, aggravated. "I hope you know how many times I almost offered this position to someone else."

"I know," he said. "Thanks for giving me an extra few days. I'm ready now."

"Well?" she prodded. "What's it going to be?"

Toby looked around his beloved house, filled with years of memories. He thought of his kids at the school, all the students he would have to say goodbye to. He thought of his city, the place he'd made for himself, in theater and dance, the connections he had, his lovers and friends in the gay community. He thought of starting over in _Ohio,_ in the middle of nowhere, with no friends, no support.

Then he thought of Brad, and Andi and Laurie. Duncan and Cory. And Will.

"No weekend practices," he said, "and every other Friday off, in exchange for evening practices on another weeknight."

He heard her sigh. "That's a hell of a request," she said.

"It's over two hours to my boyfriend's house, darlin'," he said. "It's the only way I can see making it work."

"Fine," she said. "We'll work out the contract. Will you take it?"

"I'll take it," he said. "I'll come to Carmel."

"Excellent," Shelby said crisply. "Vocal Adrenaline's gonna love you."


	28. Chapter 28

_Supergreak, go study for finals._

* * *

><p>The worst thing, Kurt thought as he pulled his clothes on, was waking up every morning and not knowing if he was okay. The picture Toby had texted to Brad of Puck in the coffeehouse had carried him through Monday, but after that, the anxiety crawled back into his gut, thick and heavy, like a killing frost. He couldn't stop thinking about the snow on the road - they'd had a big snowfall in Denver on Sunday night.<p>

_Santa Fe._ Toby's report about where he'd been heading was all, but Kurt thought he knew what that meant. It was the triad there, Daphne and Nicole, and Alex, that Puck had met last summer. The family that had taught him everything about what was possible for the three of _them. _Kurt had never spoken to any of them, but he knew Puck had a weekly call with them, had listened to Puck's side of it more than once, and knew they still meant a lot to him. He still loved them.

_What did that mean for them?_ Kurt knew Puck's feelings were not handed out easily, that he kept them close to his chest. He felt lucky to be one of the ones who knew him that way. Kurt knew Puck had said there was nothing to compare with the relationship between himself and Finn, or even the one they themselves had, but maybe, now, he'd changed his mind. Maybe... this was what he was going to choose. His heart ached for the possibility.

He drove slowly over to Finn's, thankful for a big car with nice heated seats, and left the car on just in case Finn was ready to go to school today. He didn't expect to find him already dressed and sitting at the table, eating cereal like it was just another day.

"Hey," he said, taking a gulp of orange juice. His face was pale and he looked like he'd lost a few pounds, but otherwise he seemed normal. Kurt hesitated only a moment before he went to him and sat on his lap, holding him tightly. Finn's arms were strong and warm and _god_, he hadn't realized how much he missed them.

"So what changed?" he murmured, resting his head on the space in Finn's neck that seemed to have been made for him. Finn pulled back, looking sober.

"It's hard to say, exactly. I've never spent such a long time by myself. Brooding's never been my thing, you know?"

"I know," Kurt said, smiling faintly. "We were starting to get worried about you."

"But I listened to those Neil Diamond CDs, the ones that I found in... the box of record albums. I cried a lot. Jesus, a _lot._ And then the CD you left - that was _worse."_ Kurt could see the tears glittering in his eyes. "I always figured, hey, chick music, not really for me. But listening, really _listening,_ I realized how much I'd been missing. How much I'd just written off as unimportant."

The pain surfaced, then, and Kurt realized just how _not okay_ Finn still was. "I'm trying to forgive him for what he did," he said tightly. "I'm trying to let it go. But I don't think I can."

"Maybe... maybe I can help with that," Kurt said.

Finn took a slow breath. "I don't know," he said. "I've thought about that a lot. Trust me, pretty much all I did for the past three days was think. But I don't think I can do that... with you. Not right now, anyway."

Kurt nodded. He felt almost relieved. "Well, I'm glad you came downstairs, anyway."

"I didn't want to miss the last week of school before Christmas break." Finn shrugged. "I guess I've got to assume this is how things are, and go on from here."

Then he kissed Kurt, soft and sweet, and achingly sad, and Kurt found himself crying for the forty-millionth time in the past few days. They held each other for another moment before Kurt stood and took Finn's hand.

"My car's waiting for you outside," he said. "I'll meet you in the driveway."

"You're - going to drive me to school?" Finn looked startled, then concerned. "What about... I mean, don't you think people are going to..."

"They're going to, anyway," Kurt said sadly. "I think everybody knows about me and Noah. I mean, you saw the way I acted at the funeral. I'm not going to worry about it right now. I just - I need my friends. And you're one of them."

Finn's smile just about broke Kurt's heart, but he'd take it, if that was all he could offer.

* * *

><p>Toby ran the windshield wipers one last time as he pulled his rental into one of the marked Visitor spaces in front of McKinley and turned the headlights off. He had forgotten how godforsaken gray a Midwest winter could be.<p>

He was really going to miss the sun - but the benefits of being closer to Will would make it worthwhile. He hoped.

Wrapping his scarf more snugly around his neck, he hunched his shoulders against the wind and took a single deep breath before hauling open the red double doors. He followed the signs to the office, but the secretary sitting at the desk only looked at him sideways when he asked if she needed his id to issue him a visitor's badge. Instead, she waved him away with a snap of her wrist, and he was left to wander the halls alone. _Things sure are different here compared to Denver,_ he thought, glancing around the empty corridors.

The school was quiet. He could hear faint thuds and scuffles from the gym, and lilting music from a partially open art classroom. Pausing at a glass case, he saw a display dedicated to the school's cheerleading squad, including several enormous trophies and a giant blow-up photo of the football team with their cheering compatriots. He peered closely at the photo and grinned as he found a few familiar faces. There was Puck, wearing a much happier expression than he had at the coffeehouse where Toby had seen him last; he stood beside Finn, who sported a goofy smile. And -

"Holy shit, is that _Kurt?"_ Toby murmured, touching the case with one hand. It did seem to be, though Toby would never have pegged the boy for a football player.

"Holy shit? I don't think you should be saying that in front of highly impressionable students," said an amused voice. Toby glanced behind him to find a small gathering of the students in question, watching him curiously. The girl who'd spoken had raven hair and wore a cheerleader uniform with a skirt so short it would have been prohibited at the Arts Academy, and that was saying something. She stood beside a blonde in an identical uniform, whose legs just went on and on, and a lanky Asian boy with an overstuffed backpack.

"Pardon my French," he said, grinning at the girl, who didn't look traumatized in the least.

"How do you know Kurt?" said the boy, looking suspicious.

"I'm - friends with his piano teacher," Toby said, and the two girls exchanged a look.

"You know _Brad?"_ the dark-haired girl said, eyebrows arching for the stratosphere.

Toby nodded. "We're old friends from college. You know where I could find him?"

The trio shrugged at each other, and then the boy spoke up. "He's always just sort of around. We have Glee next period. But-" The blond interrupted by grabbing the boy's hand and looking at Toby.

"We were on our way to dance." She appraised him coolly, glanced at the dark-haired girl, and nodded. "Mike and I are, like, the _best_ dancers in Glee, and Santana likes to watch us practice." She turned on her heel and flounced - actually _flounced_ - down the hall, Mike matching her stride for stride and Santana scrambling to catch up.

Toby couldn't help himself. He followed them down the hall, around another corner, and into the doorway of a large, well-lit dance studio.

* * *

><p>Santana thought that the best part about being the new Head Cheerio was the freedom to pretty much do whatever she and Britt wanted. It was pretty fucking awesome. She'd been jazzed to bail on English, and it was all kinds of easy faking Coach Sylvester's signature on a pass to get Britt out of Home Ec. Mike was supposed to be in study hall, but there were, like, two hundred kids in study hall. Things had been great, until the hot guy who was friends with weird Brad followed them.<p>

He just stood there, in the doorway, studying Mike and Britt while they warmed up. Santana finally wheeled on him and loaded her voice with accusation. "You're not some kind of a perv, are you?"

The man laughed gently, and cocked his head at her. "Darlin', please. I'm queer as a three dollar bill. That makes me lots of things, but- what was your word, _a perv_?"

At her huff and eye roll, he continued. "No. I'm not that. Just a dance teacher."

"Oh, yeah?" Britt looked him up and down, then at Mike, who seemed to understand. She knelt by the large boom box in the corner of the room and pressed play on the CD player. The room filled with the thumping of that stupid old-school rap song Schue had sung a while ago. Santana couldn't help rolling her eyes again. That shit was _bad_, but it was the kind of thing they were probably going to have to sing, dance to, or both, at Regionals. The man tried to cover a laugh with his fist, but the crinkling around his eyes gave him away. His voice was soft under the beat of the music. "1989 is calling and it wants its rap back."

Santana snorted. "Our Glee director loves this kind of sh- uh, _stuff_." She waved her hand at Britt and Mike. "They thought if they practiced to this, we wouldn't be caught like losers when our set list goes to hell at our next competition." She let her eyes drift over to where Mike was working through some kind of turning step, feet moving swiftly and lightly. Britt followed, mirroring his movements in the opposite direction. A glance back at the man told her that he was impressed.

Or he appeared that way, at least, until he was unwrapping his scarf and tossing it into the corner with his coat and sweater.

Santana fanned herself. He was slight, but built. _Hot_, she thought, echoed by _too bad he's gay_. He strode into the studio and stopped in front of Mike and Britt. They stopped their footwork and fell into formation behind him. They waited while he counted the beat with his hand against his denim-clad thigh. Santana saw him catch the downbeat with a nod of his head, and then he was off. Dude was good. _Really_ good, in the way Santana knew Britt and Mike would be, too, when they were a little older and had actual lessons instead of the DVDs Mike got for them at the library. He moved like water, improbably in three directions at once but perfectly coordinated at the same time.

And Britt and Mike were keeping up! Admittedly, they were both red-faced and gasping, but they were anticipating the next steps in whatever this man's brain was creating, and matching his movements in time with the music. When the CD slid into the next song, the man turned and offered his hand to Mike first. "Toby Grey."

"Mike Chang. And this is Brittany Pierce. You're . . . wow! You're really good!"

The man - _Mr. Grey_ - ran a hand over his own flushed face. "So are you guys. Where do you study?"

Santana jumped in, then. She couldn't stand there and let them be embarrassed. "There aren't any good studios in town. At least not that can keep up with these two now."

Brittany tugged at the end of her ponytail. "Mike and I met in class when we were little." She shrugged. "We got too good. And it's too expensive to go down to Dayton or Columbus for class. And," she dropped her voice to a whisper, "Mike's dad doesn't exactly approve, but we don't talk about that."

"So what do you do for class? You clearly dance regularly."

"I get DVDs from the library, those master class kinds of things. They're not perfect." Mike looked at his feet, less confident now that he was talking.

Mr. Grey nodded. "But they're better than nothing. It happens that way, sometimes."

"Ah... I _thought_ I heard the sound of unbridled teenage hormones colliding with awful 80's rap," came Coach Sylvester's voice, silky and snide, from the open door. They all turned to see her standing with her arms crossed, watching them talk. "But now I see it's just two of my girls, skipping class - and I'm sure you have a perfectly valid reason for doing so." She nodded at Mike. "Other Asian."

He nodded back, uncomfortably, and stuttered, "Hi, Coach Sylvester."

Mr. Grey's eyes were calculating as he regarded Coach in the doorway. "Ah, so _you're_ Sue. Brad has told me... so much about you."

Coach's eyes narrowed - Santana thought this was the coolest expression; sometimes she'd practice it in the mirror, so she could get it just right - and she took a few sauntering steps toward him, considering him carefully. "That's funny. He never mentioned anything about you. Oh, that's _right._ He never mentions _anything, _about _anybody._ Could it be that our little silent accompanist actually has a voice?"

"He talks to his friends," Mr. Grey allowed. "And when he has something important to say."

"Well, since he's not here - and even if he were, he wouldn't be saying anything - I'll have to rely on you to tell me who you are?" She watched him expectantly.

He seemed to think for a moment, then make a decision. He held out his hand. "Toby Grey. I teach at the Denver School of the Arts."

"Mr. Grey," she said, ignoring his hand. Santana didn't like the look on her face at _all._ She thought Mr. Grey was pretty cool, and it looked like Coach Sylvester wanted to eat him for lunch, and not in a sexy way. Which, anyway, _ew._ "As it happens, your reputation precedes you. Tell me, _Toby_ - may I call you Toby? Because I feel as though I practically know you already - how is it that you and Brad and Will have been friends for so many, many years, and yet you've never before been to Ohio to visit them?"

"I have an aversion to Midwest winters," he said steadily. "And nosy cheerleading coaches. But you've been misinformed - I've been here many times."

Both eyebrows went straight up. "Is that a fact," she replied, cocking her head. "Because I thought your visit might have something to do with Will's sudden and catastrophic breakup with his _wife._"

"It has absolutely nothing to do with that," Toby said. "Though I can't say I'm sorry to see her go. I've never really understood his attraction to her."

Santana looked back and forth between the two of them, waiting for them to say something that made sense. It was almost as though they were speaking in code, and the words they were saying had zero to do with what they actually meant.

"Well," Coach Sylvester said at last. "I think it's time for these three to scamper along to their Glee rehearsal. Wouldn't want to be late." Her tone was mild, but Santana could hear the undercurrent of _get lost_ behind them. She hesitated, but Mr. Grey waved her along.

"I'll be there soon enough," he said, his eyes twinkling, and he dropped his voice to a stage whisper. "Don't tell Mr. Schuester I'm coming, though. I want it to be a surprise."

"No problem," she said, taking Britt's hand as they headed out the door. _This ought to be good._

* * *

><p>As soon as the kids were out of earshot, Toby turned to Sue and shook his head. "I really thought you'd be scarier," he said.<p>

"Oh, you have no idea, twinkletoes," she said. "But I must say I'm glad to finally meet the future Mrs. Schuester."

"Trust me, we'd be taking _my_ name," Toby assured her. _As if that would ever actually happen. _"Toby Grey's a legend in Colorado theater. I'd never give it up."

Sue looked dubious. "So you don't deny that you and Unfortunate Hair Products are an item?"

"I don't see any point, since you seem to possess arcane knowledge to back it up." He shrugged. "I also don't have anything to hide."

"And your boyfriend?"

"Would find a way to handle it, should it happen to come out. I mean, really, we're in show business. And, really - look at me." He held out his hands with a disarming smile. "Could anybody _ever_ mistake me for anything but gaygay-gaydity-gay?"

He hoped his bravado and humor adequately hid the anxiety he was feeling. This was _Will's_ home turf, and no matter how casual they were about their relationship in Denver, he knew it wasn't going to be that way here. He wasn't exactly sure _how_ it was going to be.

Sue tut-tutted and straightened her shoulders. "Well, Mr. Grey, I must say, you're not what I expected, myself. I thought you'd be a hell of a lot less calm about this."

"No sense in trying to build a closet when a set of drawers does just fine," he drawled, and she actually cracked a smile.

"Indeed. May I show you to the choir room? I'd love to see Will's face when he sees _you_ here."

"I think I can find my way." _And I'll be damned if you get to steal even one moment of my thunder. _

"Well, then." She held out her hand. "I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again."

He shook it. "I'll be looking forward to it, Sue."

Toby heard them before he saw them, halfway through a rousing rendition of "The Twelve Days After Christmas:"

http:/ www. youtube. com/watch?v=BxpDlU6t-Y

_The sixth day after Christmas, the six laying geese wouldn't lay  
><em>_I gave the whole darn gaggle to the A.S.P.C.A.  
><em>_On the seventh day what a mess I found  
><em>_All seven of the swimming swans had drowned_

They were bantering over who got to say the line, "Well, actually, I kept one of the drummers" - it was neck and neck between Kurt and Tina - when Toby stepped through the door. Kurt's repartee went silent as he broke into a delighted smile, but it was Mercedes who blew the whistle.

"Toby!" she exclaimed, and both Brad's and Will's heads spun around so fast they could have been gyroscopes. Brad was speechless - no surprise - and Will looked like he'd been carved from stone.

"Well, don't just stand there," Toby said with a slow smile. "Aren't you going to introduce me?" When no response was immediately forthcoming, he took a step forward and held up a hand. "Never mind. I'll let the children do it." He surveyed the eleven students seated on the risers - Puck was notably missing. "_You're_ the New Directions, the winners of your division's sectional competition - which you managed handily, by the way, considering all the roadblocks everyone kept throwin' up at you." He held up a finger. "Who am I? Let's see if you can get it in... ten questions."

"Animal, vegetable or mineral?" Kurt quipped, and Toby laughed.

"Animal, definitely," he said with a leer, to Santana, who smirked. "That was one."

"You're Mr. Toby Grey," Mike called, and everybody turned to look at him. "Right?" he added, uncertainly.

"True," Toby said, striding forward. "But there's more. That was two."

"You're Mr. Schue's best friend," said Finn. He was smiling tentatively at Toby, and Toby smiled right back.

"Also true, though not complete. I am also the best friend of another person here in this room. A hint: he's not going to speak up for himself."

"Brad!" the children chorused, and Toby was gratified to see Brad turn a salmon pink color and roll his eyes.

"That's three. You're getting warmer. Anything else?"

"You're a dance teacher," Brittany said. "And you're really good."

"Correct on both counts," Toby sang out. He did a time step and a modified break from one of the routines he used with his kids, then held up four fingers. "More."

"You're really hot?" Santana muttered.

"A matter of opinion," he said, waving it away, "and, playing for the other team as I do, not to mention being of an age to be mentor rather than lover, I would say irrelevant in your case. But I am flattered. Five."

Kurt looked like he was about to leap out of his seat, so Toby made his way over to him and sat beside him. Will was pale and had sunk down onto his own chair, but his lips were curving up in a faint, bewildered smile. Toby watched him with a delighted expression.

"You're reprising the role of Don Lockwood in Singin' in the Rain," Will said, his voice rich and throaty, "after more than fourteen years."

"Correct, Mr. Schuester. You get a gold star." Toby almost threw him a kiss, but he thought that would be a bit much for his first visit, so he settled for a golf clap. "Keep going. That's six."

"You came to see us at Sectionals because Mr. Schue couldn't be there," Mercedes said. Will's head snapped around to her, his mouth open and eyes wide.

"True," Toby said blithely. "Though you really didn't need me at all, what with Miss Pillsbury there to accompany you."

"That's not true," Kurt protested. "I was falling apart and you practically rebuilt me from scratch."

"One of the many talents I've picked up after teaching dance for so many years," he said. "Students fall apart in my studio every day. They're like Lincoln logs. Come on, that's seven. Don't give up now."

There was a silence. He turned around to gaze at Rachel. "Need a hint?"

"Please," she said, smiling.

He nodded solemnly. "It has something to do with _where_ I'll be teaching dance."

"At... a school in Denver?" Her face cleared and she pointed excitedly. "Oh - the Denver School for the Arts!"

"Incorrect," he said. Kurt, Brittany, Santana, Mike, Will and Brad all looked surprised.

"But you told Coach Sylvester that's where you taught," Santana said.

"Ah, that's where I teach _now. _It's not where I'll be teaching after the new year."

Understanding was beginning to dawn on Will's face. "Toby," he breathed, and Toby held up a hand.

"They're so close. Let's see if they can get it." He beckoned. "You've got two more."

"You're still going to teach dance, right?" said Brittany. "It would be a waste if you didn't."

"Yes, I am," he agreed. "That's nine. All right, one last hint, though I don't think you really need it: it's a school with which you're familiar. Let's say, with whom you have a healthy rivalry." He looked meaningfully at Kurt. "One you with whom you might even be in _competition?"_

Kurt choked and glanced over at Will, whose face was warring between appalled and overjoyed. _It's going to be a little of both, darlin', _he thought with regret.

Toby stood and faced the room. "Ladies and gentlemen of New Directions, I give you the new choreographer for Carmel High's Vocal Adrenaline: Tobias Grey." His bow, complete with flourish, was met with stunned silence. He smiled and shook his head. "Boy, you're a tough crowd. Maybe I should stick with 'really hot'?"

Then everyone was talking at once. Toby turned to face Will, and they were moving toward one another at a measured pace, as though each one's magnetic field were slowly increasing. When they were within a hand's breadth of each other, Will stopped and hesitated.

"You're... moving to Ohio?" he said, stunned.

"After Christmas," Toby replied, and he put all the love and hope he could muster into those two words. Will's hesitation stretched out an interminable length. Toby reached across that distance and took his hand. "Hope that's okay with you."

Will stared down at their joined hands. "I - Toby, I can't believe - "

"Will," Brad hissed, under the noise of the kids' chatter. Will glanced at Brad, blinked once - and then grabbed Toby in a spine-cracking hug.

"Don't worry," Toby murmured, hugging him back. "I promise to be gentle when we kick your ass at Regionals."

* * *

><p>Santana was the last student in the choir room, although usually she was the first out the door. There was a big crowd after rehearsal today. Everybody wanted a chance to talk with Toby. He sat with the boys during Glee and sang in his fricking <em>beautiful <em>tenor, accepting the dubious honor of saying the "kept one of the drummers" line. He taught them some tricks about choreography that even impressed Rachel. He told a dirty joke that made Mr. Schue turn bright red and stammer an objection, but that had everyone else rolling on the floor with laughter.

"Why don't you come teach dance here?" asked Britt, so hopefully that Santana almost told Toby to lie and promise her he would. But he gently explained the funding situation, clearly enough that Britt would understand, and she pouted - until he said he'd be happy to meet with her and Mike, whenever he was in town, for private dance lessons.

Mike and Britt had a new dance DVD on hold at the library, so they all decided to go there before heading home, but halfway across the parking lot, Santana realized she'd left her bag in the choir room. "You go on without me," she said, giving Britt a smooch. "I'll see you guys tomorrow."

She thought at first the room was empty, but as she approached, the sound of Prince's "Kiss" drifted out the open door. Santana sidled up to the exit and peered around the corner, noting that Mr. Schue and Toby were... closer than they had been when she'd left. _A lot_ closer. _Jeez Louise._

"Don't be worried, darlin'," Toby was saying, caressing Mr. Schue's cheeks. He took Mr. Schue's hand and led him out to the center of the room, a teasing smile on his face. "It's gonna be fine."

"How can you say that?" Mr. Schue replied, reluctantly following Toby's lead.

"Because," Toby said, pulling Mr. Schue close against him and taking a pose, "I'm going to fight for you. And things will be easier, now, without the distance and without . . ." Toby shook his head. "Never mind. Just dance with me, William."

Mr. Schue took a shaky breath, smiling at him, their faces inches apart. "I'll always dance with you, Toby."

Santana smiled at the song; back when Britt had gone through her '80's obsession, she'd danced for Santana one afternoon. It was the first time they'd kissed, so long ago when they were still in middle school, and Santana had known, even though she hadn't really _known_, that she loved Britt.

Toby snapped his arms out and straightened his back, forcing Mr. Schue to improve his own posture, and laughed. "Well, then - you lead, darlin'."

"Where are we going?" Mr. Schue said, bemused, but he launched Toby into the sexiest tango that Santana had ever seen. His eyes were smoldering as he gazed at Toby. Santana thought that maybe the reason why she'd never seen Mr. Schue as any kind of attractive before - besides his touchy-feely emotional stuff - was that she'd never seen him beside somebody _he_ was attracted to. Because with Toby? He was _damn_ hot.

"Do you remember that time at B-W, when I dragged you to dance class?" Toby's eyes were sparkling, and Santana could hear something fond in his voice that made her feel all weird. She wanted someone to talk with _her_ like that someday.

Mr. Schue laughed as he led them through a turn. "I was a disaster."

"You were not." At Mr. Schue's stare, Toby shook his head. "Okay. You weren't quite a disaster. But you _were_ a hot young thing. Laurie knew, that day."

"Knew what?" _Who's Laurie?_ Santana wondered.

"That I was dead gone on you." Toby _let_ Mr. Schue dip him, leaning into him hard with his leg, his arm strong and straight over their heads, and Santana wondered what it felt like, to _trust_ someone that way. She supposed it was like trusting her base in Cheerios, knowing that he'd throw her right _and_ be there to catch her from her fall. _That_ was easy. But Toby and Mr. Schue, they were trusting with _feelings_, too, and feelings scared the shit out of her.

"Toby..." Mr. Schue closed his eyes as Toby slithered down against Mr. Schue's body, his back rubbing against his chest and back up again in a completely unambiguous come-on. "I think we both know it had been going on for years. _Years._ Since we were kids, if I'm going to be honest."

"Yes, Will," Toby agreed, throwing his head back as he moved into the next step. "Let's be _honest."_

"Okay," he said. "Honestly... I'm scared to death about the idea of you moving to Ohio."

"What scares you, darlin'?" Santana didn't care that it wasn't directed at her in any way; Toby's drawled endearment sent a shiver up her spine, and filled her with wanting for things she didn't even know she could have.

The music came to an end, and Mr. Schue and Toby drew to a halt in the middle of the studio. Mr. Schue pulled away, holding on to one of Toby's hands. He wasn't smiling now. "I'm scared that you're going to leave everything you know - your job, your community, your _kids - _to come to _Ohio_... for me." He shook his head. "And what am I worth, to you, really?"

"Oh, darlin'. Don't you know?" Toby ran a finger along Mr. Schue's jaw. "You're _everything_. You're the best thing in my world, even when we're fightin' like cats and dogs, and you have been since we were nine years old." The love on his face was almost physically painful to Santana, but she couldn't look away. "And I'm not afraid to fight for you, not anymore."

Santana watched them, perhaps a moment too long, because they were kissing, and it was _hot_ even though she'd always thought two guys getting their mack on would be gross, and she knew she needed to either sneak in and get her bag or leave it until the morning, but there was no way she was going to interrupt _this_. When Mr. Schue pulled away, she saw him swipe at his cheeks with his hand, and - _holy shit - _Mr. Schue was _crying!_

She waited another minute, until Toby had taken Mr. Schue's hand and led him into the office, before she darted into the room and grabbed her bag from the riser. She didn't realize until the cold air hit her face as she barrelled through the double doors that _she_ was crying, too.


	29. Chapter 29

_(Author's note: while putting together the Youtube channel for this installment of the Donutverse - http:/ www. youtube. com/playlist?list=PLD240CD7441F64E8C, by the way - I was surprised to discover that three of the most important songs of the chapter were not available to listen to on Youtube. So I made lyric slideshows of them, complete with angsty pictures of Puck, Finn and Kurt. Don't miss Kristen Hall's smoky voice, and tell me you can't believe these songs weren't written JUST for Puck?_

_Chicago 5 AM - this is the song Puck sings for Finn in the middle of the night, before he takes off - http:/ www. youtube. com/watch?v=ij6I9Gu30c0_

_I Don't Need You Anyway - this is the first song he sang in the Denver coffeehouse, where he busted his E string - http:/ www. youtube. com/watch?v=8JxDiFcrOHE_

_Truth Hurts (Don't It?) - this is the second song from the Denver performance - http:/ www. youtube. com/watch?v=rmBbGtnAiQA_

_Enjoy some Sarah, Burt and Carole, some Toby/Will, some Glee and some Carl/Finn, plus bonus sex with Kurt! -amy)_

* * *

><p>"This is really great, Mr. Hummel, Mrs. Hudson," said Sarah, sipping her root beer float. "Thanks for lunch."<p>

"Well, believe it or not, I remember being eleven," he said, smiling at Carole over his burger. "I figured if you had an excuse not to go back to school after meeting with the social worker, you'd probably take it."

"I like school," Sarah said. "It's the stupid kids I don't like."

Carole nodded soberly. Burt guessed she remembered being eleven, too. "Who was that girl who called you yesterday? I took you over to her house?"

"Frances." The fries on Sarah's plate were rapidly disappearing. As Burt had suspected, she hadn't had breakfast. He'd have to be sure to wake up early enough to make it for her, now that Puck wasn't making it anymore.

"She's the one I met on Saturday, at the service?" Burt made a noise of approval. "I like her."

"She's cool," Sarah said. "Her parents are, like, straight out of 50s reruns, but she's all right."

"So..." Burt glanced at Carole, then faced Sarah again. "Carole and I, we've talked this through, and we wanted you to understand our thinking before you made any decisions."

Sarah stopped chewing and sat back, watching them with cautious eyes. She nodded silently.

"Before all of this happened, when we were still planning to do the home evaluation for your mother, we'd talked about you coming to stay with me," said Carole. "But now, the way things are between Finn and Puck, I'm not sure if that's a good idea." Burt knew it hurt her to say it; she swallowed before continuing. "Sarah, you've always been welcome at my house, and that's still true..."

"They're going to get back together," Sarah said, with placid confidence. "I'm sure of it."

"Well, that may or may not be true, but right now, they're barely talking to each other. It's complicated, as you know." She put a gentle hand on Sarah's. "And... Sarah, you're going to have to be prepared. He might not ever come back."

"He will," Sarah insisted. "He didn't take any of Dad's records. That means he's coming back for sure."

Carole shot a startled look at Burt. He nodded thoughtfully. _Good point. Sarah knows her brother. _"Okay. So let's assume he'll come back sometime. So we thought, if you still wanted to stay with your brother, that it would be better if you came to live with me."

Sarah nodded back. "Like I have been."

"No, Sarah." Burt tried to convey every bit of what he was feeling in his gaze. "I mean permanently. No more moving around. For good."

Sarah's eyes widened. Then she directed her gaze at the table, staring hard, like she was going to solve all the problems of the universe with the power of her eyes. "Mr. Hummel..." she started, then stopped.

"There's a couple different ways to do it," he added, "and we don't have to choose one or another other now. I just need to know... if that's what you want."

Sarah looked at Burt with that expression every teenager has seemed to have perfected: like he was absolutely insane. "_Yeah,"_ she said with disdain. "_Yeah,_ I want that."

Burt felt something settle inside him, and he let himself breathe. "Okay," he said.

Sarah reached across the table and nudged his hand with hers. "So what do we have to do?"

"Well... the first thing we have to do is to get your dad to relinquish parental rights. Don't look at me like that," he snapped, as Sarah made a face. "It's a legal thing, and I'm sure as hell _not_ going to put you in the position to be taken away from me."

Sarah broke into a flushed smile, and Carole laughed breathlessly. Burt looked disgruntled. "What?"

"You're sweet when you're possessive," Carole said, and leaned over to kiss his cheek.

* * *

><p>The bedroom of Will's apartment was still new, and Toby had never before slept on this particular mattress with him, but after fifteen years together, the moment together felt as familiar as Will's laugh.<p>

"I still can't believe you're here," Will murmured, stroking a hand over Toby's chest.

"Mmmmm," Toby said, stretching luxuriously. "That would have been a difficult act to complete if I hadn't been."

Will struggled up onto his elbows. "I mean, this whole thing. Here, in Ohio. You, the job, the _house..." _He stared at Toby, barely seeing him. "God. Things are going to be... really different for us."

"That's part of me fighting for you, darlin'," Toby said, trailing a finger down the shadow of Will's jaw. "We both needed a change, and this will give us the time we've never had before. Different, yes, but not inherently bad."

"Oh... no," Will said, looking shocked. "I don't think it's _bad._ Not at all." He mirrored Toby's gesture on his face. "I can't tell you how touched I am that you would come out here for me. For us." Will's gaze was desperately determined. "I want... I want so much to make it work this time."

Toby let out a gentle sigh. "I have to tell you, though, at least a little bit of the reason I did this so quick an' dirty was to prove to myself that I _could_. That I didn't _need_ the same kind of life I live in Denver."

Will's brow wrinkled as he struggled to understand. "Do you mean, the way things were for you in Denver - that was good, but it wasn't _enough?"_

Toby didn't meet Will's eyes. "That life was just me passin', sugar. Passin' time waiting for you, killin' hours with men who weren't you. Cobblin' together the work, the shows, even the teachin'. All of it was just me in a holding pattern. And now I feel like I'm flying." He closed his eyes and rolled in closer to the long-familiar feel of Will's chest, warm and strong and everything he'd always wanted.

Will nodded soberly. "The life I had with Terri... I can see it now for what it was. That was me, wanting a normal life, wanting - god, I can barely remember what I thought it was, back then, but it always seemed so _important _that I had it. I wanted it for my parents, for my place in the community. A wife; a family. It was the way I always thought it should be." His lips twisted. "Seems pretty trivial, now."

Toby felt tears threatening, and he blinked them away. "I always knew it was _you_ I wanted. I just never thought I'd get it, not completely, not out in the open. But when things started to shake loose, I had to take the chance."

Toby leaned in and kissed Will, hard, and Will responded immediately, their arms wrapping around each other, the easy give and take of years of history flowing between them like water. "I still don't know how much _out in the open_ I can handle," Will said into his neck, his voice low with desire. "But you, here, in my _bed,_ God, Toby... it's worth anything. Anything."

"The out in the open, that's yours to decide, and you don't have to decide anything right now. As far as me in your bed, well. I'm your captive audience until Friday." Toby trailed a row of hot, wet kisses down Will's neck, and Will shivered in response.

"Mmm," Will groaned at the slide of Toby's hand down his side and around to his back. "I could get used to this."

"You bet your sweet ass you will," he purred, plastering his lithe body against Will's, making him quiver in response. "I negotiated for every other Friday off. That means three nights and two days of _this_... _every... week."_ He punctuated his words with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along Will's shoulder and down onto his chest, his hands moving skilled and fast and without preamble along the length of Will's cock.

Though the walls of the apartment were likely cardboard-thin, Will didn't seem to care. He threw his head back and moaned, loud and with the kind of honest passion that Toby had always appreciated about him. Will might be scared, he might be confused, but one thing had always been certain: he wanted Toby, and he wasn't able to hide it. And no matter how many lovers had spent the night in Toby's queen-sized bed, he'd never been able to quench his reciprocal desire for Will. To be here, tonight, the two of them, felt like the sweetest conclusion of a scene that had been coming for so long.

"God, Toby," Will said, his voice breaking. "I love you... and this is exactly what I want. Just this."

_If I get to have it my way,_ Toby thought, as he lost himself in his lover, _this is just the beginning, darlin.'_

* * *

><p>"Mr. Schue," Kurt heard Artie say, as he wheeled into the choir room, "why aren't we going caroling?"<p>

Mr. Schue looked startled. "Um... I guess I hadn't really thought about it," he said. "You think we should do that? I mean, it sounds like fun, but not everybody in Glee celebrates Christmas. I wouldn't want anyone to feel left out."

Rachel smirked knowingly, leaning on her knees. "Mr. Schue, I must say your inclusivity is touching, but any singer who belongs to a religion other than the one in the majority knows that to sing the great works means a compromise must be met. It's impossible to avoid Christianity when you're singing choir music. Likewise, it's impossible to avoid Christmas carols in December. I think I know most verses to at least three dozen carols." She shrugged. "I'm in. But not this Friday. It's the Hanukkah service at Temple Beth Israel."

"Okay," Mr. Schue said, smiling slowly. "Well... how about next Tuesday, then? You'll all be out of school, and we can get together to rehearse this week before we go door to door."

"We can get together at my house, Mr. Schue," Mercedes said. "Cocoa, the works. I'll announce it on Facebook."

"Thank you, Mercedes," he agreed, then glanced at Brad, rubbing his chin. He looked a little embarrassed. "Um... how would you all feel about an impromptu rehearsal tomorrow night?"

They passed the puzzled look around for several moments before Mr. Schue sighed, definitely pink now, and said, "Toby... would love to sing with you again."

After that announcement, everyone agreed to be there. Mr. Schue smiled in relief, saying, "My apartment is pretty small, but I have a little keyboard, and I could borrow some folding chairs... unless anyone else wants to volunteer their place?"

After a pause, one person raised his hand. Silently.

"Brad?" Mr. Schue looked completely floored. Kurt smiled at him, and Brad just scowled back.

"It makes sense, Mr. Schue," Kurt spoke up. "He has a piano, and lots of space, and Duncan and Cory would love it."

"You sure?" Mr. Schue asked one more time, and Brad nodded. Mr. Schue blinked, then smiled again, nodding back. "I guess we're on for tomorrow, then - after dinner, whoever can make it. I'll print up directions."

"How about an assignment?" Tina said brightly, and when Artie glared at her, she just smiled back. "No, you'll like this one. We do a Secret Santa - but instead of giving presents, we sing songs for our chosen person. Everybody does a song."

This idea got general positive acclaim, although Mike Chang argued that nobody would want _his_ song (this was booed down), and Finn frowned hard enough Kurt thought he might decide to pass. But he wrote his name and dropped it in the hat. So did Mr. Schue, and, to everyone's amusement, Brad.

"He can play a song on the piano," Mercedes pointed out quietly. "That's just as good." Everyone drew a name. Kurt glanced at his: _Mercedes. Easy._

Mr. Schue hovered by the door and caught Kurt on the way out, Finn walking alone a few steps behind. "Have you heard from Puck?" he asked, voice low.

"No," Kurt said, not looking at Finn. "We're trying to give him some space. To figure things out."

Mr. Schue nodded. "Probably wise, though I'm sure it's incredibly hard. If there's anything I can do - "

"You've done it, Mr. Schue," Kurt said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Glee is just about the only thing getting me through right now. And - thank you, for a chance to get together with Toby again. He's pretty amazing, and I'm not the only one who thinks it."

Mr. Schue's face shifted from muted concern to the most incredible, breathtaking _joy_ that Kurt had ever seen him express. He laughed in surprise, and Mr. Schue laughed back. "Yes, well... I guess I'd have to agree there."

"I'm kind of impressed," Kurt added. "You being so... open, about Toby."

Mr. Schue nodded seriously. "I don't think I could have hidden it on Tuesday if I'd have tried," he said. "He just caught me completely off guard, showing up like that. And nobody even blinked." He shook his head. "I guess that just shows me that I could have trusted Glee all along."

Then Mr. Schue reached out and pressed a piece of paper into his hand. "I thought you might want an opportunity, yourself," he said. "To tell the group something."

Kurt looked down at the piece of paper. It was one of the Secret Santa slips. On it was written the name _Noah._ He looked up quickly at Mr. Schue.

"I wrote it," Mr. Schue said. "But if you wanted to sing for him, I'll take the slip you drew."

"He won't hear me," Kurt protested.

"Does that really matter?" Mr. Schue said.

Kurt clutched the paper tight on the way out to his car, where Finn was waiting for him inside, his earbuds on, leaning back against the seat with his eyes closed. He sighed, a great gust of air.

"Neil Diamond?" Kurt asked.

"Not today," Finn said, and his voice was tight and controlled. "Today it's our date night CD."

Kurt nodded, understanding. The CD had hardly left Finn's sight since Puck had taken off. Kurt suspected, though Finn wasn't letting him into his room at night, that Finn listened to it as he was going to sleep. Finn still spent most of his time alone, either in his room or sitting by himself, listening to his headphones. Kurt found himself doing the opposite - he'd put away all the music, except for Glee, and was trying to stay connected to as many people as possible.

He felt like he was mostly doing an admirable job of keeping things together. Until something unexpected would hit him, and he would just lose it, and right now it was Finn's letterman jacket, and wondering what might have happened to Puck's, and - wasn't there something wrong with driving and crying at the same time?

"Baby," Finn said in desperate unease, but Kurt wiped his eyes and held up a hand.

"It's okay," he insisted. "Don't worry about it."

Whatever it was that Finn had left to offer as support, it wasn't forthcoming to Kurt. He supposed it was good Finn was talking to him at all. He had to assume this was just a natural part of the mourning. _Like he's dead, _he thought dully, watching Finn settle back in with his earbuds into his private silence. _Like he's never coming back. _

He considered the folded piece of paper that read _Noah_, now waiting in his pocket for his decision. _Maybe that could be my memorial offering._

Finn climbed out of the car onto the corner by Dr. Howell's office. "Are you sure you don't want me to pick you up afterwards?" Kurt tried, but Finn just shook his head.

"I'll see you for dinner," he said. "Thanks for the ride."

Kurt watched him trudge through the snow toward the glass doors. Whatever Noah had gotten from spending time with Dr. Howell, Finn didn't seem to be getting in equal measures, but he kept going back. Kurt didn't dare to ask to see his behind, and he hadn't yet seemed to be in any significant discomfort, but maybe that just meant he was of sturdier stuff than Puck?

He sighed to himself, and dug out his iPod. _Now to choose a song to give to Noah for Hanukkah._

* * *

><p>Finn sat in the waiting room with his earbuds on, after a brief nod to Angela, but he hadn't realized she was trying to get his attention until the song came to an end for the thirteenth time, and he could hear her say, "Sir."<p>

He took the earpieces out and gave a wan smile to Angela. "You don't have to call me that," he said.

"Yes, sir," she said, not looking directly at him. "I do." She bit her lip. "Please forgive me... but I'm worried about Puck. Is he...?"

"I don't know where he is," Finn interrupted. _I'm worried about him, too._

She nodded, her eyes still on the floor in front of Finn. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

He leaned forward, resting his chin in his two cupped hands, trying not to break down in the _waiting room._ It didn't take much, even when he was with Carl. At least he didn't feel guilty about it anymore - after that first time, it had just been so _easy _to let things go. Now, even though he couldn't quite trust that everything would be okay tomorrow, or ever, at least there was this space in which things could be _easy, _just for a brief moment.

Carl met him with a grave face. He was dressed in dark blue scrubs today, though Finn wasn't sure if that was because he'd had a client who wanted something from Dr. Carl, or if he was actually coming from his other office. Finn didn't even know where that office was. He decided it was probably just as well.

"Finn," he said, and Finn rose and followed him up the stairs.

The routine was familiar by now, this being the fourth time he'd come to see Carl since that first time last week. _I'm making him earn every penny of that huge check I wrote him last month,_ he thought with some bitter satisfaction. Then he felt guilty for _that. _He sighed in frustration.

Carl considered Finn for a moment, pausing outside the room they'd used the last three times. Then he turned him around and pointed him in another direction entirely. "Come with me," he said, and placed his hand on Finn's back, guiding him through a doorway and down the hall before emerging into the most beautiful bathroom Finn had ever been in.

"You've been here four times this week, Finn," he said quietly, beside him, watching him as he gawked. "And you're asking for more. I dare say it might not be a punishment you need."

Carl kept steady eyes on him the whole time Finn wrestled with this idea, staring down at his hands. "You mean... something else?" He was almost afraid to ask what it might be - what might be _worse_ than a spanking at the hands of Carl.

"Do you trust me?" he said, and Finn snapped his gaze to Carl's, feeling the impact like a rubber band.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm not sure I should... but I do."

It was more honest than he'd thought he was going to be, but Carl seemed to appreciate it. He nodded, and began to undress Finn, quickly, without much attention to what he was uncovering. Finn, on the other hand, felt unusually exposed, and he could feel his face heating when Carl reached hs boxers. It was just another piece of clothing, though, and that's the way he treated it. By the time Finn was stepping into the large sunken bathtub into to scalding hot water, hotter than Finn would usually like it, he was nearly relaxed.

It was why the words hit him like a ton of bricks - that, and Carl's firm hands on his neck, putting pressure on knots that needed loosening - when he said, "You need somebody to take care of you."

Finn found himself sobbing wordlessly into his own hands for several moments before Carl was there next to him in the water, his arms holding him up, giving him support and comfort, his voice soft and calm. "That's it. Just let it go. Come on, I'm right here."

Then Finn was saying things, things he hadn't even realized he was thinking about. About Puck when he was eight and he'd been suspended for some heinous eight-year-old deed and Finn had loyally pretended to be sick so he wouldn't have to be the only kid staying home. About when they were eleven and Finn had broken his wrist on the skateboard, and Puck had taken his own board, something his family could barely have afforded to begin with, and set it in the garage to wait until Finn's wrist was healed enough to skate again. About the night at Puck's house, when it had been Puck's hands on him, massaging his feet and helping him relax, and he'd awoken with horrible nightmares, and Finn had held him in his lap for the first time. All through the barrage of words, Carl was holding on, listening in silence, just the occasional noise to show he was still paying attention.

When the words finally ran dry, and Finn found a towel close at hand to wipe his eyes, he glanced down to see that Carl was still wearing clothes, there in the bath with him. "Dude," he said, somewhat weakly. Carl smiled dismissively.

"I didn't think it warranted the time it would have taken to take them off," he said. "But wait there, while I put on some dry scrubs now, okay?"

Finn nodded, leaning back into the warm water, grateful for its embrace now. When Carl came back, he had a great big towel, bigger than any towel Finn had ever seen, and it felt like an inordinate luxury to have something that large to wrap up in. Carl dried him off, calmly and with gentle hands, then helped him dress in clean scrubs that were a little big, but fit all right. He made him drink an entire bottle of water before they left the bathroom.

It wasn't the recovery room they went to, but a different room, one that was less clinical and more comfortable. For one thing, it had a fountain running in the corner, and a great half-circular couch with pillows. Finn sat on the couch, finding it not too deep for his long legs, but Carl sat cross-legged next to him, facing him. The room was warm, and Finn yawned almost immediately.

"Are you hungry?" Carl asked, then laughed. "Oh, yes, I forgot, you're sixteen. You're always hungry."

"I'm almost seventeen," Finn said, then he wondered why he'd said that. Carl picked up a phone and gave Angela some directions for sandwiches. "I'm having dinner at my house," he added, but he didn't get up.

"You're not done yet," Carl said, with a hand on his knee. "This kind of catharsis needs just as much aftercare as other kinds. Don't discount your boys' needs when they break down. Kurt, he's a sensitive one? He cries easily?"

"Yes," Finn said, startled. Carl nodded.

"He needs special attention. Don't skimp on the aftercare. It might be the only time he really accepts that kind of care from you, and you can make him really hear you during those moments. Do you understand?"

"Yes - yes," Finn said, and he did. He thought of all the times that Kurt had cried in his arms, and he hadn't taken the time afterwards to really make him feel loved - to feel _cherished._ "God," he began, anguish surfacing, but Carl's voice was like a lash.

"No, Finn. That's _not_ what this is about. I'm not here to make you feel guilty for what you haven't done. You're new at this. Nobody expects you to know what to do all the time."

"I do," he choked, and Carl's gentle hand reached around to his neck and carded through his hair - and then grabbed a handful and _yanked,_ forcing a gasp out of Finn's mouth as he jerked his head back.

"I won't stand for self-pity, Finn," he said severely. "There's no place for that here. We're men of honor, and we stand by our boys, but we're not perfect, and nobody in the world can ask that of us."

"All right, no, I - " He struggled for the right words to say, because he didn't want to apologize again, and he wasn't sure if the phrase _yes, sir_ would ever be okay for him to say to Carl. The hand released just as quickly as it had gripped him, and he reeled a little, bracing himself against the couch.

"All right," Carl echoed. "Yes. It's all right."

Finn leaned back into the pillows, feeling his face flushing. "I'm not sure how I can stop feeling guilty for what I promised him," he said. "I said I would stand by him. I said I wouldn't ever leave him. I did both of those things - how do you _recover_ from that?"

"You don't," Carl said simply. He reached out and took Finn's hand. "You don't recover. You start over. You try again. You can't go back and fix it. You can apologize, and you can meet your own penance. But it'll never go away. Mistakes happen, Finn, and you have to live with them."

Finn watched Carl's handsome face move into shadow, and for just a moment, he had a glimpse of some of the memories weighing on Carl's own conscience. _He's probably made more mistakes than I would be able to count,_ Finn realized. _And he's still here, being this for me. For countless others, too. _

"How do you keep going?" he whispered. "How do you do it?"

Carl squeezed his hand. "This," he said. "This, what you give me back, by being here in this office. It's what _I_ need, just as it's what you need. I'm here to take care of it."

Carl looked meaningfully at him, and his gaze penetrated down into Finn, where he'd thought nobody would ever be able to see. He saw, and he didn't judge. He just accepted him for who he was, flaws and all. It was - intoxicating.

"God," he said, hiding his eyes behind his hand. When he came out, Carl was still there. "Really?"

"Really," he said, nodding. "You're not always going to know what your boys are going to need, but you can start to see trends. If what you're giving them isn't helping them to be their best selves, you know you've got to try something new." He beckoned Finn in, toward him. "Come here. Try this."

Finn moved in slowly, uncertainly, but Carl beckoned again, and he settled into the space between his legs, leaning back on Carl like he was a pillow, and accepting his arms around him, the embrace comforting and intimate at the same time.

"I hold Kurt like this," he said, remembering. "He... he loves it."

"Yes," said Carl, and his voice was just a whisper in his ear, but it was close enough to make him shiver. "You can help your boys relax, like this, or hold them afterwards. Sometimes it's easier to talk when you're not looking them right in the eye. And your words don't have to be loud to have an impact from here. You don't have to try, to affect them."

Finn felt a strange, sharp pain in his chest. He didn't quite recognize it at first, but it stayed with him, just a pinprick, but present nonetheless. "No," he said. "I haven't been giving them this. Not either of them. It's been... too long."

"You need this," Carl agreed. "You need to give, as much as you need to receive it. This kind of care - everybody does. Our culture doesn't teach men to nurture one another, Finn, even as brothers or friends, much less as men who love men. We don't get taught these things, and we have to muddle through on our own. It doesn't have to be that way."

Finn felt his traitorous eyes leaking again, but this time he didn't deny them; he just let them be. Carl handed him a tissue, and he blew his nose after a little while. He accepted a bottle of water, and drank that.

"My mom took care of me like this," he said after a time. "It was a lot like this. But I never had a dad to give it to me."

"We need men, just as much as we need our mothers," Carl said solemnly. "We, especially."

Finn lay like that for quite a long time, but just as before, it was easy, just being there with him, stretched out together, so much the way he'd lain with his boys. It should have felt painful, to do that, to remember how easy it had been - but, miraculously, it was just simply good. It was just what he needed.

_I don't have to feel bad for getting what I need,_ he thought, before falling asleep in Carl's arms.

* * *

><p>Kurt startled awake to find Finn beside him in the dark. "It's a school night," Kurt began.<p>

"I got permission from your dad," Finn said in a whisper, as he took off his clothes. He climbed in beside Kurt, under the warm covers, and pressed his body against him, not with desire, but with great intention and deliberation. Kurt found himself moaning.

"God, Finn," he said, in sleep-broken tones, "you feel so good."

"I haven't been taking good enough care of you, baby," he said, his broad hands stroking Kurt across his back. Each touch roused him a little more, until by the end, his body was wide awake and wanting.

"What - what happened?" he said, stroking Finn's face, bringing their eyes level with one another. "Did - did he-?"

"No," he said, and he sounded almost awed. "No, he didn't, not this time. He just - took care of me. Gave me a bath. Let me cry, and held me. Talked to me, told me I was all right, that it was okay to make mistakes."

"Finn," Kurt said, sounding sad. "Didn't you know those things already? I could have -"

"No, baby," he said. "That's not your job. I'm here to take care of _you._ You just need to let me do it, and to depend on me - and you do. You always have. You give me - just what I need."

His mouth dropped to cover Kurt's, gentle and insistent, and Kurt felt himself relax into Finn's touch. He hadn't realized _just how much_ he had needed this.

"Thank you," said Finn, stroking his body like it was the most amazing thing he'd ever touched. "Thank you for being exactly what I need. Thank you for - everything. God, Kurt."

Kurt felt him shuddering, felt the tears fall hot and wet on his chest, even as he knelt above him, using his slick fingers to reach inside him and make him ready. "Finn -" he gasped, thrusting against the long fingers, already ready, already wanting him. Finn seemed to understand, and he quickly stroked himself with his fingers to make him slippery, and within moments, he'd replaced his fingers with his cock.

"Not too much, baby?" he said, anxiously curtailing his movements, his breath coming short and harsh.

"_No,_" Kurt groaned, pulling their hips together with one strong thrust, and they both cried out to feel the heat and connection of their bodies. "Just like that, Finn - just like that."

"I can do that," Finn said, smiling, and pulled out and slid back inside, so easily, while their mouths and hands completed the connection.

_It was remarkable, _Finn thought, lost in the sensations of Kurt, _how different it was, this same act, with different people. Such a simple act, with so many layers of possibility. _He drew his hands down between their bodies, feeling the way they fit together so perfectly, and wrapped a hand around Kurt's erect cock, making him stutter and beg for more.

"I love you, baby," he vowed. "I'll never stop. I'll always take care of you, just like this."

Kurt's cries were nearly incoherent by now, although Finn heard his name more than once, and the word _yes, _over and over. It was inconceivable how good it made him feel, to know he could care for Kurt - not only like this, but in so many ways. The two of them accelerated slowly toward climax, awash in the joy of their shared desire. Finn knew what he could give was exactly what Kurt needed, and that was the greatest comfort he'd ever known.

Afterwards, in the dark, he told Kurt about how Carl had cared for him, and Kurt accepted it all, completely secure in this moment of love and bliss. "You don't feel weird, getting that from him?" Kurt said, one hand twined together with Finn's.

"No," Finn said. "Not at all. I wasn't sure at first, but it's - easy. It's as easy as anything I've ever done."

"That's good, then," Kurt said, kissing him.

They slept, uninterrupted, until just before morning. It wasn't the alarm that woke Finn, though, and it wasn't Kurt or Burt or anybody else. It was himself, his hand stroking to match the dreams in his head, and they hung on just long enough to spur him to completion.

"Mmmm," said Kurt, stretching. "Is it morning already?"

"Not yet, baby," Finn said, panting, his mind reeling. _Shit. No. This is - no. Not him._

"Well, come back to bed, then, silly," Kurt murmured, drawing him back down under the covers. "Let's enjoy this while it lasts."


	30. Chapter 30

_(Author's note: Thanks for your patience while I finished up my semester. This chapter has double warnings for extreme angst and also for excessive songfic. To the point where I had to make it its own playlist. http:/ www. youtube. com/playlist?list=PLCF2EB0CD73ECD441 I hope you will enjoy the songs while reading. It does end on a happy note, I will say. More to come tonight. It's awkward, having three concurrent stories - this is Thursday, December 16, which matches up with chapter 4 of 1,000 Sarahs, and is the day before the first day of The Breath Before the Phrase. I'll catch up soon, though, and then there will be a brand-new chapter in Just That Side of True, for you Will/Toby fans. Happy Christmas, everyone. -amy)_

* * *

><p>He wasn't sure why he even bothered, but Kurt still came up to their attic room every day between fourth and fifth period. The feeling of missing something was even more distinct here than it was at home, where he was acutely aware that the room next to his was empty.<p>

He lay on the mattress, which was now covered by an old quilt from Finn's house, and watched the sun play across the east wall. They'd made some progress in moving boxes of music off the multitude of shelves, and several of them now stood empty. Kurt hadn't brought anything else in to cover the shelves, but he'd thought about it, something colorful and gauzy and... _just don't let Kurt decorate,_ Noah had said. But he couldn't laugh about it now. It just hurt.

Finn had come to him last night, had given him part of what he needed, and it had been _so_ satisfying to feel his body against him, to have him in his bed, to hear the words he'd missed so much. To feel cared for, and appreciated, even in the midst of all the confusion and pain of Noah's disappearance. They'd made love, for the first time that way, Finn inside of Kurt, and it had been so much like and so much _not_ like the way things had been with Noah. He ached in much the same way, feeling twinges inside that would subside throughout the day.

But it was bittersweet, at best. Kurt regretted that - he wished he could just lose himself in the pleasure of Finn. He remembered so clearly a time when he'd thought that Finn was all he ever needed. It had started out as a crush, but Finn had come to him for help, and they'd built their friendship from there, learning to depend on one another. Their mutual exploration and appreciation of each other had grown, until they had this precious, incredible _thing_ he could scarcely believe was real. He and Finn. Knowing that was still there, still present, was a great gift. But…

_It wasn't enough. _ It wasn't even guilt he felt about this. It was just the way things were, now. He'd gone from loving Finn to loving Noah _and_ Finn, separately and together, in two short months, and it _wasn't _enough to have one of them. He imagined it would have been just as bad, had Finn been the one to go away. Having just Noah would have been good - great, even - but not _enough._ Not when he knew what he could have. Not when he knew what he really wanted.

He rolled onto his side and touched the other side of the mattress, stroked the worn fabric of the quilt, and sang:

_See the stone set in your eyes  
><em>_See the thorn twist in your side  
><em>_I wait for you_

_Sleight of hand and twist of fate  
><em>_On a bed of nails he makes me wait  
><em>_And I wait without you_

_With or without you  
><em>_With or without you_

He barely heard the door open, but it closed with a _click,_ and he felt a shiver as Finn's voice joined his. A moment later Finn's body joined his, too, curled behind him on the mattress, arm tight over his, holding him in the way that had always made Kurt feel safe and secure. It still did.

Kurt slid up an octave to a more comfortable range, and they sang, quietly, in unison:

_Through the storm, we reach the shore  
><em>_You gave it all but I want more  
><em>_And I'm waiting for you_

_With or without you  
><em>_With or without you  
><em>_I can't live with or without you_

_And you give yourself away  
><em>_And you give yourself away  
><em>_And you give and you give  
><em>_And you give yourself away_

Kurt rolled to his other side to face Finn, and saw Finn's tears were falling freely now, his pain right on the surface, as it had been pretty much constantly since Noah had driven away. _They'd driven him away,_ he thought, with a new pang. _He hadn't felt safe enough to stay. He needed something we couldn't give him. _

They looked into each other's eyes, feeling the intense, shared regret for past deeds, all the things they wished they could have done differently. Finn had told him what Dr. Howell had said: _You can't go back to the way it was. You can only rebuild, start over._ But what if things were so broken that there was nothing left with which to build?

The last verse was exquisitely painful to consider, but they somehow kept going, still holding each other's gaze as they sang. The song wasn't for either of them, and they knew it, but it was _from_ both of them. They couldn't pretend not to be missing this piece of themselves, no matter what they did. Their relationship just wasn't complete without Noah, and it never would be again.

They sang in effortless harmony, and that was a small comfort, the way in which their voices fit together, so different, so alike, just like the things they needed from one another.

_My hands are tied, my body bruised  
><em>_He got me with nothing to win  
><em>_And nothing else to lose_

_And you give yourself away  
><em>_And you give yourself away  
><em>_And you give and you give  
><em>_And you give yourself away_

_With or without you  
><em>_With or without you  
><em>_I can't live  
><em>_With or without you_

Every few moments, Kurt felt the sobs rack Finn's body, and he wished, just for a moment, that _he _were big enough to wrap Finn up inside his arms and legs and make him feel safe and cared for. _Finn said he didn't want that from me, _he thought, _but he needs it from somebody. He needs it so much, I can feel it myself._

"Do _you_ miss him like this?" Finn whispered into his ear, between the heaving, choking bouts of crying.

"Every minute," Kurt whispered back, kissing his wet cheek.

"God, I keep thinking... I don't know how I'm going to be able to get through the next _hour,_ much less the next day." Finn just sounded confused and dismal, and though his words were scary, Kurt wasn't worried about Finn _doing_ something stupid. His sense of responsibility to his family was far too great.

"You're doing it," Kurt said. "We'll get through together. Finn, I wish - I wish I could be enough..."

"No," Finn cut him off. His red eyes were reproachful. "Don't. You don't wish that, and neither do I."

"No," he said miserably. "You're right." _Not when I know how we can be, with him._

"I'm going to sing a song for him," Kurt said. "Tonight. At Brad's house. Everybody in Glee... they're going to know." His next breath came out as a hitching sob. "I can't pretend anymore."

"All right," Finn said. He sounded resigned. "It's all right, baby."

Finn lay back on the bed and pulled Kurt on top of him, like he was the mattress, and Kurt lay his head on Finn's chest and listened to his slow, steady heartbeat. When he spoke, Kurt could hear his voice all through his body, low and sweet.

"Those dates we went on, they were really great. But… I wish we'd done more things together, the three of us. I wish - I wish we hadn't been so caught up in all that other _shit."_ The curse was sharp coming from Finn's lips.

"I know," Kurt said. "I wish we had, too."

There was nothing left to say.

* * *

><p>Finn stopped at the water fountain before Glee and splashed a little cold water on his face, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.<p>

"It's for drinking, not washing," said Quinn behind him. She sounded tentative, like she wasn't sure how the jibe would be received. Finn tried not to react.

"Water's colder here," he said. "I just needed..."

"I know," she said quietly. "Come here. I know something that helps."

Quinn pulled him into the alcove outside of the choir room. From her purse she drew a bottle of eyedrops. "You're going to have to sit down, or something," she said, gazing up at him sardonically, and he couldn't help but smile. He sat on the floor, cross-legged, like he was five years old, while she held open each lid and deposited a drop into each eye. He blinked, clearing vision.

"I've spent plenty of time crying this year, believe me, and this works." She put a hand on his shoulder. "Finn..."

"Don't start," he warned, "or I'm just going to fall apart again. I'd rather not."

She nodded silently, and took an awkward seat beside him on the floor. Her stomach was bigger than it had been a few weeks ago, but she carried it well. She still looked beautiful.

"Puck left," she said, watching his face. He nodded and looked away. "Was it - was it the baby, or was it the fight?"

Finn stared at the floor. "The fight was because of the baby. He got stuck on this idea that she _belonged _to him, somehow, and he needed to take care of her." He shook his head slowly. "Quinn, I... I really care about him, and this is going to sound awful... but the idea of him taking care of a little baby, all by himself... that scares the crap out of me."

"I know," she said. "I'm pretty damn responsible, and I can barely imagine doing it myself. He has some pretty crazy ideas about what's okay."

His eyes were pleading. "That's just it. I hated myself for doing it... I just couldn't think of anything else to do to stop him from taking this on. I told him over and over, why it was a bad idea, and he wouldn't listen."

"Since when does Puck ever listen to _anything_ anybody says?" Quinn sounded amused, but it cut him, and Finn tried not to let it show. _He's supposed to listen to me,_ he thought. _I'm supposed to be able to make him do it. Some poor excuse for a Top I am. _

"He told me about the dreams he was having about her," she said. "He said he had them almost every day. He talked about her all the time." She leaned back and stretched, arching her neck. "Ugggh... my back is killing me."

"But _you're _not feeling this way. You're not having these dreams. Are you?"

She chewed on her lip. "Sometimes," she admitted. "But I still can't imagine trying to parent all by myself. I would have done it with Puck. But he didn't want to do it with me." She paused, then stared up at Finn, shocked. "Oh my god. He - he wanted it with _you."_

"And Kurt," he whispered.

"Does Kurt want that?" she said. Now she sounded morbidly fascinated.

"I don't know," he said honestly. "We never really got into it. I thought... it was done."

"She," Quinn corrected.

"What?"

"She's a _she._ You called her an _it."_

Finn put a hand to his mouth and pressed, hard, but the horrified sound escaped anyway. Quinn put a hand on his shoulder, but he shook his head hard enough that she took it away again.

"What?" she said. "Finn, you're freaking me out."

"I really fucked up, Quinn," he said, trying to keep his voice low, but it was cracking and crumbling all over the place. "I don't know if he's ever coming back. And even if he does... I don't know what to do then. I don't know how to accept... her. He's going to be a father. I'm not ready for that."

"Finn..." She looked perplexed. "You must not see yourself the way I do, because you're most responsible boy I know. You _are_ ready for this. There's a reason why I lied to you - because I wanted _you _to be the father to my baby. I think... I think if you and Puck and Kurt are together in this, if you really do care about each other, there's no reason why you couldn't raise a baby together."

He felt his face fold into lines of incredulity. "I don't _want _to be a father yet, Quinn."

She shrugged, gazing at him matter-of-factly. "That's the way it is, though. Puck's a father, now. Would it be better not to have _him?"_

He buried his face in his hands. Suddenly his head felt too heavy to hold up. "I don't know," he muttered. "I just don't know."

"Well... " Her voice was equally heavy, and she sighed, stroking his shoulder gently. "I guess you might not need to worry about it. But if you could have what you wanted... what would that be?"

Finn didn't have to think about that one. "I just want him to come _home,"_ he said, his voice hoarse. "I don't know what the hell comes next, but Kurt's freaking out and I can't stop crying and... and _god, _how am I going to live like this?"

Quinn stood up. "I bet he feels the same way," she said. "Now imagine - if he feels like you do, and he was _still _willing to give you up - imagine how he might feel about _her."_

It was a sickening, squeezed thought, one that made Finn think about things from a new angle. He wasn't sure he needed any_ more_ angles, but this... he wiped his eyes and sniffed. _He loves her more than he loves me. _Somehow it didn't bother him; rather, it made him feel better, to think that Puck might actually be taking fatherhood seriously.

"I guess he's going to have to come back, then," he said. "Come back for her, right?"

"By spring, at least," she said, with a soft smile.

Something opened up inside Finn, then; he could feel it - something he'd closed and put away when he'd learned the baby wasn't his, when he'd found out she wasn't really his Thumper. It was a raw, tender feeling, one he wasn't willing to examine too closely, but it was there, like a fragile bud poking from the frozen ground in the early spring.

He reached over and held a tentative hand over Quinn's belly, watching her for permission. "Can I...?"

Her eyes narrowed, but she bit her lip and nodded at him. His fingers and palm covered her entire stomach, even now, at five months pregnant. "She's getting bigger," he said.

"I hear that happens all their lives," she said, and laughed when he jerked back a little at the movement under her skin. "She's pretty active at this time of day, but during Glee, she's quiet. I think she likes the music."

"Yeah?" he asked, quietly. She moved again, a gentle bump under his hand. "I guess with parents like you and Puck, it's no wonder."

"I'm not going to be her parent, Finn," Quinn said. She sounded resigned.

"Yeah, you are," Finn insisted. He couldn't move his hand away from her tummy. "In some way, at least. Rachel doesn't know who her mom is, but she's still her mom. Puck's father might be a jerk, but he's still his dad. You can't stop being a parent once you start." He felt his eyes open a little wider with the realization. "It's just part of you. And… and I think Puck knew that."

Quinn's brow wrinkled. "Maybe. But you can't tell me that Rachel's dads aren't really her parents, just because they didn't make her."

"No, I'm not saying that. But you can have lots of parents. Maybe more parents is good." Finn thought about the sweetness of his mom and Burt, with Sarah, and about the crazy possibility of him and Kurt and Puck raising the baby together.

"Maybe you're nuts, Hudson," Quinn said, and put her hand on top of his, on her belly, feeling the gentle movement inside. They sat there for a long time, layered on top of one another, holding on.

* * *

><p>"It's kind of embarrassing, how none of us have plans on the Thursday night before the last day of school," Finn said as they trudged up Brad's well-shoveled walk. Flurries still drifted from the night sky, but the night was mostly clear, and cold enough to carry clouds of steam from their mouths as they talked.<p>

Kurt gave him a wry smile. "The most embarrassing part is that Rachel's the only one who does have plans. She's leaving early to go see the Nutcracker." He eyed Finn. "Do you miss being popular?"

Finn thought about it. "Not really," he said. "I guess I really only had that one year when popularity mattered. Before that, we were just guys hanging out together. Then freshman year, suddenly it was like, if you weren't doing stuff with the right people, you were nothing. And now..."

"You're guys hanging out together again," Kurt said, "except with sex." His face was solemn, until Finn laughed, and than it broke into his beautiful smile.

Finn felt a ridiculous rush of emotion. "I love you."

Kurt paused on Brad's step and touched his arm. "I love you, too. Are you sure this is okay with you? Me... coming out, about Noah?"

"Half the kids in Glee know already," he shrugged. "But you'll have to let Mercedes and Tina know if that means she can start the rumor mill. And I bet Rachel will, no matter what."

"Yeah." Kurt knocked on Brad's front door, then paused again as a thought struck him. "What are _you_ singing, anyway?"

"I'm not sure yet. I have two choices." Which one depended on whether or not he could persuade someone else to take his slip of paper, but he wasn't going to share that with Kurt.

A tiny dark-haired woman met them at the door. "Hey, you," she said to Kurt with a big smile, and wrapped him in a hug. Then she looked way, way up at Finn, and her smile became sardonic. "I'm Andi. Let me guess: Finn."

"I prefer that to Frankenteen," he nodded, stepping into the foyer, and she laughed.

"Trust me, I've heard every short joke out there. My kids are going to outstrip me by the time they hit eight. Duncan might get there sooner, at the rate he's going."

She hung up Kurt's coat just as the aforementioned Duncan came tearing around the corner, dark hair flying. He stopped when he saw Finn standing there, and stared at Kurt uncertainly.

"Hey, kiddo," Kurt said, opening his arms and managing to heft him up with difficulty - he _was_ tall for three. He gestured up at the taller boy. "This is Finn."

Finn gave Duncan a wave. "I hear you like dinosaurs," he said, and reached into his coat, drawing out a wrapped package. He glanced at Andi. "Can he open it now?"

"You're not supposed to say what it is," Kurt hissed, as Duncan squirmed out of Kurt's grasp and tore the package out of Finn's hands. He made short work of the wrapping paper, and crowed in delight at the articulated plastic dinosaur.

"A compsognathus!" he shouted, making it climb Kurt's arm and eat his ear.

"Say thank you, Duncan. Finn, you didn't have to do that." Andi shook her head and picked up the discarded wrapping paper as Duncan called out _thank you_ before disappearing around the corner.

"It was Kurt's idea. Make the tall boy not so scary." Finn felt his smile drop away, and Kurt put a hand on his wrist.

"You're not scary," Kurt said, quietly. Andi offered a coat hanger, and smiled as Finn held up a second wrapped package.

"Wait for it..." she said, holding up one finger. "Okay... now."

"Not faaaaair," came the whine from around the corner, and this time the child who appeared was blonde, with one finger in her mouth. She went right to Andi and wrapped her arms around her leg. Finn got down into a one-kneed crouch, holding out the package.

"Hi," he said. "I'm Finn. Do you want one, too?"

The little blonde girl nodded, still tucked behind Andi's knee. "Go on, Cory," Andi said. "He's Kurt's boyfriend."

"Uh..." Finn said, startled, and looked up at Kurt, who colored. Cory darted forward and snatched the package before her mother could change her mind, carrying it around the corner to open it in relative safety.

"Oh - I'm so sorry. Kurt's _friend?" _Andi's brows raised. "I just assumed you were out. My musician friends were always the most accepting. I figured..."

"It's okay," Kurt said. "I'm out. Finn's not. We're waiting for... for the right time." Finn heard the unspoken words: _This isn't it._

"No, no, I definitely get it," Andi said. She looked mortified. "I just forget, sometimes, how it is for teenagers. Sorry. Well, Cory won't tell anybody. She's nearly as quiet as her dad."

"Are you - the three of you... out, tonight?" Kurt asked. "So we don't make the same mistake."

"It's hard to hide that, when the kids are around. We usually assume people will see what they want to see, and ask questions, or not, if they're confused." She grinned. "Hiding in plain sight works just fine. You'd be surprised how many people ask if Laurie and I are sisters."

Kurt rolled his eyes as she ushered them into the family room. "Oh, because you look so much alike."

Blonde, tall and slim, Laurie did indeed look completely different from Andi. She was leaning on the counter in the kitchen, handing plates of cookies over to Quinn. Somehow they'd managed to move the piano into the family room, and Brad sat on the bench, wearing a Santa hat, blithely playing "Baby, It's Cold Outside" while Santana and Artie sang the two parts. Tina and Mike were on the floor building a Lincoln Log house with Duncan. Matt, Rachel and Brittany were decimating a Yule log cake at the table, and Mr. Schue looked up from the couch where Mercedes and Toby were admiring Cory's stegosaurus.

"Hey," he said, smiling. "Glad you could make it. You're the last two, so we can get started. Grab a carol book off the piano."

They clustered around the upright, in loose formation by section, Rachel leading the sopranos, Mercedes graciously taking the altos (with Kurt), Toby managing the tenors and Mr. Schue on baritone. The songs were familiar: Silent Night and The First Noel, Deck the Hall and We Wish You A Merry Christmas. They tried each one first with the piano, Brad leaning heavily on the complicated parts, and then sang them again a cappella. Finn thought they didn't sound too bad.

"I haven't really done this kind of thing before," he said to Toby, when they took a cookie break. "Singing around the piano like this. It's fun. Thanks for suggesting we get together."

Toby grinned up at him. "I couldn't pass up this opportunity. I do love Christmas. Not too many times in my life I could feel at home just by openin' a songbook, but somethin' about these songs, everybody knowin' them – that does it."

_Home,_ Finn thought, and his face must have reflected something of what he was feeling, because Toby suddenly looked concerned. "What is it, Finn?"

"I need to sing my song for someone other than the person whose name I drew," he said. "I don't want him not to have someone sing a song for him. Do you - would you sing for Kurt?"

Toby glanced over at Kurt, who was going over his piece with Brad. "I'm happy to give him a song," he said. "But... darlin', don't you think he could use a song from _you_ right now?"

"He's not ready for that," Finn said, looking at the floor. "He... tonight's about him and Puck. We have to do this slowly."

Toby considered him, his face troubled. "I see. Well, I know how that is, when your lover feels like you have to hide things. You've just got to remember, it's complicated. It don't mean your relationship don't matter to him."

"No..." Finn said, and sighed. "No. I don't think that. It's... we're fine. And I'm okay with waiting."

Toby nodded soberly. "You don't have to explain." Then, to the whole group, he smiled and spoke louder. "I hear we've got secret Santas to reveal."

He went to the piano and lined up fourteen tiny figures, about the size of Lego men, made out of spun sugar. "When you get your song, take a little guy. That way we'll be sure everyone gets theirs. Who wants to begin?"

Rachel raised her hand, as though she were in school. "I have to leave early, so if no one minds, I'm going first. I put together a little number for my secret Santa: Brad." She beamed at him. "It's perfect."

Brad was already scarlet and scowling, but he got Rachel's music out from the stack on the piano and opened it to the first page. The room grew quiet, watching her.

Rachel stared fiercely down at Brad, then snapped, "Oh yeah? That's what _you_ think!"

"What?" muttered Brad. Everyone stared at him, including his wives.

"That's my new philosophy," said Rachel. "Oh yeah? That's what _you_ think!"

Brad's reproachful look could have been faked, but Finn doubted it. "Then why are you telling me?" he said. _A full sentence,_ Finn marveled.

"Why are you telling me…" Rachel paused, eyes alight. "I like it! That's a good philosophy! _Why_ are you telling me." And, to the accompaniment of the piano, she began to sing:

_Why are you telling me?  
><em>_My new philosophy  
><em>_The teacher gave a D on last week's homework!  
><em>_She said, "Miss Sally Brown,  
><em>_Your grades are going down."  
><em>_I could have told her..._

"Your new philosophy?" said Brad.

"My new philosophy," agreed Rachel. She was an excellent Sally, hamming it up in just the right spots, and Finn was, as always, caught in admiration of her poise and talent. It was amazing how awkward she could be in social situations, but so at home on the stage – even when the stage was Brad's living room.

Brad seemed perfectly comfortable with Schroder's speaking and singing parts, even the longer ones, and when it ended, everybody applauded enthusiastically. Laurie gave him a big kiss on the cheek, which made him blush all over again.

"So he's got a voice now?" Santana said caustically.

"Always did," said Brad. "Just never had any reason to say anything until now."

"Thank you for going along with my plan," said Rachel, patting him on the shoulder. "It wouldn't have been nearly as good if the accompanist hadn't been the one to sing Schroder's part."

"Now I think it's your turn, Bradley," Toby drawled. "Who are you singin' for?"

"I have a song for Matt, _Tobias,"_ Brad said, making a face. He took his sugar figure from the piano and crunched it between his teeth. "This is a classic from two of my favorite performers. I think you'll all be able to guess why I chose it."

Brad's voice was a smooth, mellow baritone, and everyone laughed as they realized what he was singing.

_Hello darkness, my old friend  
><em>_I've come to talk with you again  
><em>_Because a vision softly creeping  
><em>_Left its seeds while I was sleeping  
><em>_And the vision that was planted in my brain  
><em>_Still remains  
><em>_Within the sound of silence…_

Matt clapped the loudest when he was done. "From one quiet one to another," Brad said, shaking his hand, and they grinned at each other. "Who's your song for?"

"Santana," he said, giving her a leering smile, which prompted suggestive comments from the crowd. Matt's rendition of "Devil With A Blue Dress" was inspired, complete with choreography, and he sounded a lot better than Finn had remembered the last time he'd heard him sing by himself.

_Wearin' her perfume, Chanelle number five  
><em>_Got to be the finest looking woman girl alive  
><em>_She looks so pretty every time she walks by  
><em>_The boys are too nervous, even to say hi_

Santana's song was for Brittany – Finn suspected she'd done some creative trading to get that arrangement – and it was one Finn hadn't heard before, but he liked it. Most things that Santana sang were pretty awesome, actually. "Corinne Bailey Rae," she said, with a smug smile as she took her sugar figure from the piano. "It's called Put Your Records On."

_Maybe sometimes, we've got it wrong, but it's alright  
><em>_The more thing seem to change, the more they stay the same.  
><em>_Ooo, don't you hesitate.  
><em>

_Girl, put your records on, tell me your favorite song  
><em>_You go ahead, let your hair down  
><em>_Sapphire and faded jeans, I hope you get your dreams,  
><em>_Just go ahead, let your hair down.  
><em>_You're gonna find yourself somewhere, somehow._

Brittany gave her a big hug afterwards. Finn marveled anew at the unfairness of things: Britt and Santana could be friends and hug and hold hands and even kiss without anyone looking at them twice, but if he'd put one arm around Kurt, everyone would be talking about it, making insinuations. _They'd be right, but that's beside the point._

Brittany's smile at Artie was a little shy and a little bold at the same time. "I hope you're not offended by my choice," she said, taking her sugar man from the lineup. "It's because I think you're awesome, and after doing Proud Mary and spending so much time in those wheelchairs, I really admire what you go through every day." Brad swung into a standard talking blues, and Brittany spoke the lyrics:

_I went for a jog in the city air  
><em>_I met a woman in a wheelchair  
><em>_I said, "I'm sorry to see you're handicapped."  
><em>_She says, "What makes you think a thing like that?"  
><em>_And she looks at me real steady  
><em>_And she says, "You want to drag?"_

_So she starts to roll and I start to run  
><em>_And she beats the pants off my aching buns  
><em>_You know going uphill I'd hit my stride  
><em>_But coming down she'd sail on by  
><em>_When I finally caught up with her  
><em>_She says, "Not bad for somebody ablebodied.  
><em>_You know, with adequate care and supervision  
><em>_You could be taught simple tasks."_

Artie didn't look offended at all; on the contrary, he was laughing and more than a little bit pink. He reached up and took Brittany's hand when she was done. "Thank you," he said with a smile. "I've heard that before, but... it's the first time anyone's ever sung a song for me. I'll never forget it."

They took a break after that, during which Rachel regretfully said good night. "I never thought I would be disappointed to have to see the Nutcracker," she said. "I'll see you next Tuesday at Mercedes' for caroling, everyone."

She gave Finn a long hug, and whispered into his ear, "Now that you and Quinn are broken up, you can call me over break, if you're needing someone to talk to."

"Thanks," he said, a little taken aback. But then, Rachel had told him the truth when no one else would. Maybe spending some time talking to her would – then he shook his head. _Not unless I want the whole world to know everything about my sex life._

Finn found Brittany and Santana clustered around her phone, listening to something on speaker with excitement. He caught an earful of an absolutely stunning voice singing lead on a jazzy arrangement of "Hark, How the Bells." "What are you listening to?" he asked curiously.

"It's my friend Blaine," Santana said. "His group at Dalton, the Warblers, they're doing their caroling tonight. I tell you, I hope we're never up against them in competition. They'll eat us alive."

"Wow." Finn stood and listened until the end, impressed, and then heard a boy's voice say over the noise, "Merry Christmas, 'Tana."

"You call me when you get home, Blaine Anderson," she said severely.

Artie was in the middle of eating one of Laurie's caramel cookies, so Mercedes cut in with her turn. "My song's for Quinn," she said, regarding her coolly as she took the sugar figure from the piano. Her voice was rich and heartfelt, though, and the Martina McBride tune was a perfect choice:

_This one's for the girls  
><em>_Who've ever had a broken heart  
><em>_Who've wished upon a shooting star  
><em>_You're beautiful the way you are  
><em>_This one's for the girls  
><em>_Who love without holdin' back  
><em>_Who dream with everything they have  
><em>_All around the world, this one's for the girls_

Quinn looked a little breathless by the end, but then, anyone would, having Mercedes' powerful voice trained on them. Finn remembered the song she'd chosen to sing for Puck, how much it had affected _him._

Then Quinn sang her song to Mike and made them all laugh again:

_Cat got your tongue and the rent is running late  
><em>_A bad love affair has made a mess of things  
><em>_Wolf's at the door and there's nothing on your plate  
><em>_You're standing there naked and the telephone rings  
><em>_Ah, the boogie man'll get ya  
><em>_Ah, when you're lying in your bed  
><em>_Pull the pillow off your head  
><em>_You might as well dance_

"I guess I might as well," Mike said, and did a time step that made Toby cheer. He ate his sugar figure in one bite. "My song is for Tina."

Brad broke into a convoluted swing tune that Finn thought he recognized from Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, and Mike delivered a flawless routine in the kitchen. At the end he pulled Tina in for some swing dancing. Finn had to watch with admiration: Mike was just about the best dancer he'd ever seen. He could watch him dance all day, and that was saying something, considering he didn't care much for dance. He wished he could do even half the things Mike could do.

Even breathless from the swing routine, Tina delivered an old John Prine song to Mercedes with throaty confidence that Finn seldom saw from her in Glee. He wondered if everybody had a private side, a home side, that they didn't share with people at school.

_I am an old woman_ _named after my mother  
><em>_An old man is another child who's grown old  
><em>_If dreams were thunder, lightning was desire  
><em>_This old house it would've burned down_ _a long time ago  
><em>

_Make me an angel that flies from Montgomery  
><em>_Make me a poster_ _of an old rodeo  
><em>_Just give me one thing that I can hold on to  
><em>_To believe in this living_ _is just a hard way to go_

Then Mr. Schue, Andi and Toby were clustered around the piano, staring at Brad. "You're probably entirely too sick of it by now," said Andi, "but I'd love to sing it once more, just the four of us."

"God, Andi," Brad moaned, pressing his hands to his face. "We sang it every day for the past three weeks."

"I never get to sing anymore," she protested. To the Glee club, she explained, "Brad and Will and Toby and I went to summer music camp for eight years. In fifth grade we sang this song as a quartet, for our talent show. It was a popular song back then."

Brad rolled his eyes, but he began to play the opening chords for "True Colors." Andi's alto voice was surprisingly rich and full, and she and Brad blended perfectly – no wonder, if they'd been singing together since fifth grade.

_You with the sad eyes  
><em>_Don't be discouraged  
><em>_Oh I realize  
><em>_Its hard to take courage  
><em>_In a world full of people  
><em>_You can lose sight of it all  
><em>_And the darkness inside you  
><em>_Can make you feel so small_

Then Mr. Schue and Toby came in, building four-part harmony that was tight and intricate.

_But I see your true colors  
><em>_Shining through  
><em>_I see your true colors  
><em>_And that's why I love you  
><em>_So don't be afraid to let them show  
><em>_Your true colors  
><em>_True colors are beautiful,  
><em>_Like a rainbow_

It was like a different song than the one they'd sung. Finn gazed at Brad with a new awareness. _Kurt thought he'd given that song to Mr. Schue,_ he realized, _but he and Brad had known it all along. _

Toby turned to the girls when the applause had subsided. "Which of you sang lead when you did it for Glee?" he asked, and Tina waved her hand. He smiled at her. "Darlin' – Will gave me the treat of listenin' to you folks sing it. He called me up and let me hear you. I was on my way to work. Made my day. You were astonishin'."

"Thanks," Tina said, beaming in gratitude at Toby.

"I'm going to be selfish and take another turn." Toby rifled through Brad's stack of music until he found the book for A Chorus Line. "We did this show last month." He smirked at Mr. Schue. "It's one of my favorites."

"I love the movie," Kurt said. Finn could attest to this, having been subjected to it more than a few times on the green couch at the Hummel house.

"It's a hell of a film," he agreed. "Actually, in the original stage performance, this song was sung to celebrate actors' and dancers' dedication to their craft. In the movie, it became a love song from Cassie to Zach."

He didn't say who the song was for, but everyone knew, and they avoided watching Mr. Schue's red face and embarrassed smile. Toby didn't bother. His eyes bore right into Mr. Schue, as he delivered the lyrics in his light, flexible tenor.

_Kiss today goodbye  
><em>_The sweetness and the sorrow  
><em>_Wish me luck, the same to you  
><em>_But I can't regret  
><em>_What I did for love, what I did for love_

_Look, my eyes are dry  
><em>_The gift was ours to borrow  
><em>_It's as if we always knew  
><em>_And I won't forget what I did for love  
><em>_What I did for love_

_Gone  
><em>_Love is never gone  
><em>_As we travel on  
><em>_Love's what we'll remember_

_Kiss today goodbye  
><em>_And point me toward tomorrow  
><em>_We did what we had to do  
><em>_Won't forget, can't regret  
><em>_What I did for love_

"Someone else take a turn," Toby said, waving a hand and blinking. "I've got one more song, but I'm tearin' up somethin' fierce." Judging by Mr. Schue's expression, Finn would have guessed he wasn't the only one, either.

"I've got my song," Artie said, and everyone turned to listen in anticipation. It was no question that Artie was the best male singer in Glee, with his versatile voice and spectacular range. Finn knew they were lucky to have him. "It's for you, Finn."

Finn had forgotten that he was going to get a song, and he grinned. "Cool," he said. He passed Artie a sugar figure from the piano.

"Daniel Powter must have been in the corner of the room the day before sectionals, man," he said, not looking at Quinn. "We're lucky you decided to come back for the show. I don't think I would have done it."

_I'm the asshole here,_ Finn couldn't say to Artie, because it wouldn't make any sense. He and Puck had been getting into fistfights since they were eight, and there was no reason to expect this one had been any different. So he just nodded and tried to smile. Regardless, the song was awesome, because it was _Artie,_ of course.

_Where is the moment we needed the most  
><em>_You kick up the leaves and the magic is lost  
><em>_They tell me your blue skies fade to grey  
><em>_They tell me your passion's gone away  
><em>_And I don't need no carryin' on_

_You stand in the line just to hit a new low  
><em>_You're faking a smile with the coffee to go  
><em>_You tell me your life's been way off line  
><em>_You're falling to pieces every time  
><em>_And I don't need no carryin' on_

_Cause you had a bad day  
><em>_You're taking one down  
><em>_You sing a sad song just to turn it around  
><em>_You say you don't know  
><em>_You tell me don't lie  
><em>_You work at a smile and you go for a ride  
><em>_You had a bad day  
><em>_The camera don't lie  
><em>_You're coming back down and you really don't mind  
><em>_You had a bad day  
><em>_You had a bad day_

The room exploded into applause for Artie, and then turned expectant eyes on Finn. "Um," he said, and turned to Kurt. Kurt's eyes widened, and he shook his head once at Finn. _No,_ it said. _Not now._ Finn nodded acquiescence.

"This song is for… my best friend," he said. The room went silent. He took his sugar figure from the piano and tried to keep his head up and his eyes steady. "I… regret what I did, especially since his Ma… and I miss him. A lot. I've been listening to music, pretty much nonstop, since he took off… some of the music his dad gave him, and some music he got from… a friend… so anyway, this is a song off that album. It kind of spoke to me." He didn't mention how many times he'd listened to it, but it was a lot.

Finn nodded to Brad, who already had the music queued up and ready to go on the piano. Kurt was listening carefully, and when Finn began, he literally flinched. Finn didn't let this bother him. The song wasn't for Kurt. It was for Puck. He also tried not to let his bitterness and anger show, because though they were still there, that's not what this song was about. It was a plea, from one friend to another.

_Dark clouds are coming like an army  
><em>_Soon the sky will open up and disarm me  
><em>_You will go just like you've gone before  
><em>_One sad soldier off to war, enemies that only you can see._

_Dishes stacked, the table cleared  
><em>_It's always like the scene of the last supper here  
><em>_You speak so cryptically, that's not news to me  
><em>_The flood is here, it will carry you  
><em>_And I've got work to do._

The voice that joined him in harmony was so unexpected that he had to look around the room for a few moments to locate its source. Brittany stood on the other side of the piano, holding Santana's hand, singing sincerely. _She's Puck's friend, too,_ he realized. _F__or even longer than he and I have been friends. _

Finn tried hard not to think of the last time that Puck had made dinner for them, had given of his considerable talents, because Finn was almost certain he hadn't shown the kind of appreciation it had deserved. And the flood… well, Noah had had plenty of tears these past two months, enough to float him away on he raft of his own making.

With as much hope as he could muster, he sang the chorus to the accompaniment of Brittany's quiet harmony:

_Come on home, the team you're hitched to has a mind of its own  
><em>_But it's just the forces of your past you've fought before  
><em>_Come back here and shut the door  
><em>_I'm stacking sandbags against the river of your troubles._

Mr. Schue and Toby were standing close to each other, and Finn watched as Toby put a casual arm around Mr. Schue's waist. He leaned into it as though they'd done it a million times, like there was nothing to be surprised about there. Probably they weren't used to hiding, all those years together in another city. Finn felt a grinding envy in his gut, seeing them like that, but he pressed on. There was so much more he had to say. Somehow Brittany's voice, singing simple harmonies, was exactly the kind of support he needed to go on – and Santana's voice joined hers on the second verse. He gave her a small smile, and she mirrored it.

_There is fire and there is lust  
><em>_Some will trade it all for someone they could trust  
><em>_There's a bag of silver for a box of nails  
><em>_It's so simple the betrayal  
><em>_Though it's known to change the world and what's to come._

There'd been two months of fire and lust, though Finn suspected it had been there far longer, an undercurrent of wanting between them. Hell, his own _mother_ hadn't even been surprised about them. But the trust – that had been there far longer, and it was that betrayal that Finn regretted the most. _How was he ever going to trust Puck again, to tell him the truth? How could he expect Puck to trust him, after the way he'd treated him?_ Finn had no idea how he could tolerate just being friends, after what they'd come to be, the three of them, but he knew with even more certainty there was no way he could handle not having Puck in his life at all.

_Just come on home, the team you're hitched to has a mind of its own  
><em>_But it's just the forces of your past you've fought before  
><em>_Don't you recognize them anymore  
><em>_I'm stacking sandbags against the river of your troubles._

_There's the given and the expected  
><em>_I count my blessings while I eye what I've neglected  
><em>_Is this for better? is this for worse?  
><em>_You're all jammed up and the dam's about to burst._

He saw Kurt's lip trembling as Finn sang the bridge. _For better or worse – _it was what he needed. He knew it, as well as he knew his own name. He needed to give what Puck needed to receive. But how he could deserve it again – that he had no idea.

The other voices that had joined his dropped away to let Finn sing the first two lines of the last verse alone. His words trembled and shook, but he hadn't let that stop him the first time he'd sung to Kurt, in his basement through the bathroom door, and he wasn't going to let it stop him now.

_I hear the owl in the night  
><em>_I realize that some things never are made right  
><em>_By some will we string together here  
><em>_Days to months and months to years  
><em>_What if everything we have adds up to nothing?_

Santana and Brittany, as well as Matt and Mike and – Finn had to look away – _Kurt_ joined in on the last chorus.

_Come on home, the team you're hitched to has a mind of its own  
><em>_But it's just the forces of your past you've fought before  
><em>_Come back here and shut the door  
><em>_I'm stacking sandbags against the river of your troubles._

Brittany slid an arm around him and hugged him, tears in her eyes. "He's my friend, too," she said. "And I love the Indigo Girls."

"Thank you," he whispered, and she nodded.

Toby put both hands on Brad's shoulders. "Last one, Bradley," he said, setting the music on the piano. Brad frowned up at Toby, but he glanced through the song and nodded.

Toby smiled at Kurt. "This one's for you," he said, and took the last sugar figure.

"Oh," Kurt said, drawing back and shaking his head. "I – um –"

"It's my story," he explained. "I didn't have much, growin' up. I left home when I was fourteen, because gay kids in rural Kentucky don' get the kind of love they need. I did things – things no kid should have to do, to stay alive." He avoided Mr. Schue's pained eyes. "It's nothin' I'm proud of. What got me through was the music, and the dance – and these friends here." Toby reached out and took Laurie's hand on one side, and Brad took his on the other. He laughed. "And – once I could afford it – a hell of a lot of therapy. Take that for what it's worth."

_I don't go to therapy to find out if I'm a freak  
><em>_I go and find the one and only answer every week  
><em>_And it's just me and all the memories that follow  
><em>_Down any course that fits within a fifty-minute hour_

_And we fathom all the mysteries, explicit and inherent  
><em>_When I hit a rut, she says to try the other parent  
><em>_And she's so kind, I think she wants to tell me something  
><em>_But she knows that it's much better if I get it for myself_

_And ooh, what do you hear in these sounds?..._

Everyone clapped for Toby, and he hugged Kurt tight. "Hang in there," Finn heard him murmur. "You're gon' be okay."

"You'll come back and visit, right?" Mercedes said to Toby, and he nodded.

"I'll be settlin' in for a little while, out in Akron. My house needs a lot of work. But you can bet there'll be a housewarmin' party, and you'll all be invited. In the meantime, I've got packin' to do at home, and goodbyes at school, and we're just about to start performances for Singin' in the Rain."

Brad cleared his throat and glanced at Andi, who nodded. "I was thinking… I'd come out and help you with that. My plane's already booked. And Will – I got us some tickets for the Christmas day performance."

Mr. Schue broke into a smile. "Brad… are you sure you want to be away from home on Christmas?"

"This looks like my last chance to see Toby in Denver," Brad said, shrugging. "It's the end of an era."

Toby leaned down and kissed his cheek. "Darlin'," he said, and Brad waved him away with a growl.

Finn watched Kurt standing beside the piano, his arms wrapped around himself. Finn knew just what he needed when he was like that, like he was about to come out of his own skin and nothing would do but to be held as tightly as he could manage. He ached to see him like that now, and to be able to do nothing but stand helplessly and watch.

"Mercedes," he said, grabbing her arm as she walked by. "Kurt had a song. He's afraid to sing it."

She glanced over at him and her eyes widened at the misery she saw. "God – why didn't I notice he didn't sing one?" she said.

"It's for Pu—it's for Noah," he said, and her mouth dropped open. "Yeah. Like that. Can you – would you…?" He gestured to the group and stood back, biting his lip.

She nodded, and then raised her powerful voice. "Wait – we're not done yet. There's one more song. Kurt needs to sing his."

"Who are you singing for, Kurt?" Toby said, abashed.

Kurt took a deep breath and looked at Mr. Schue, who nodded. "It's for… for Noah."

"Why does he get two songs?" Brittany wondered, but Santana elbowed her into silence.

Quinn's mouth hung open and she looked back and forth between Santana and Finn. "Kurt," she said.

"Look," Kurt snapped, holding out his hands, his eyes closed. "We don't know – we don't know _anything _right now. But I don't see any point in pretending anymore." He opened his eyes and stared at Mike, and Matt, who were staring back. "He's never been my friend. But for the past two months, he's been… a lot more than that."

"Dude," Matt said, eyes wide. "You're talking about Puckerman? But he doesn't…"

"Yeah," said Santana flatly. "He does."

Mercedes went to Kurt and put an arm around him. "Go ahead, Kurt," she said. "We're all listening."

Kurt was already crying as he nodded to Brad, who gave him a starting pitch. Finn gripped the table behind him with one hand and stared at the floor, and Kurt began. It was a song Finn had never heard before; he definitely would have remembered it, would have remembered if Kurt had sung it in the car or around the house, because its simplicity wrenched his heart.

_Hey, I got your message  
><em>_That you stopped by the apartment.  
><em>_No worries, leave your things here  
><em>_For one more day._

_I don't know why this happened.  
><em>_My life is dark as hell without you;  
><em>_The room feels so much colder  
><em>_Since you went away._

_Brian, I don't want this.  
><em>_Why can't we sit and talk this through?  
><em>_I'm losing sleep,  
><em>_And I need you to come back home  
><em>_To me  
><em>_Now._

Kurt had switched into performer mode, and the tears that flowed now didn't disrupt his presence. Everyone else was crying, too, and Finn didn't feel out of place as he wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

_Since your brother's birthday is Friday  
><em>_I sent a card from both of us  
><em>_The day before there was no us,  
><em>_How was I to know?_

_Don't worry about your clothes and all,  
><em>_Maybe I will pack them up.  
><em>_Make this easier on both of us,  
><em>_Well, just for you._

_'Cause everything is breaking down, now  
><em>_Since you've been gone.  
><em>_I don't even know the days,  
><em>_I don't know where to start,  
><em>_I'm in agony,  
><em>_There are times I can't breathe  
><em>_Now._

Kurt's voice soared, took over the room, then grew quiet again. There was no other sound except Tina's stifled sobs. He finished in an undertone.

_So, I guess that's it.  
><em>_I'm sorry for this message.  
><em>_Your bags will all be waiting, when you arrive.  
><em>_I hope you're doing well  
><em>_Now._

"He hasn't called," Kurt whispered, his voice breaking. "He hasn't – I don't even know –" He fell into Mercedes embrace and started to cry in earnest. The girls clustered around him, surrounding him with supportive touches. Matt and Mike just looked lost, but they weren't going anywhere, and Finn took some comfort in that. _Kurt wasn't going to lose any friends over this… and Puck probably wouldn't either, not in Glee, anyway._

Mike came over to him with a perplexed expression. "Did you know about this?" he said, low.

Finn almost laughed, but he swallowed it and turned it into a cough. "Yeah," was all he could manage.

"Wow," he marveled. "I had – no idea. I mean, he was such a jerk to Kurt."

"So was I," Finn said.

Mike started, and looked hard at Finn, his brows climbing up his forehead. "Yeah," he said. "You were."

"Yeah," he said quietly, looking away.

Mr. Schue went to Kurt and touched him on the back, while Toby offered a hug. "I can't even imagine how you're feelin'," he said, "but you've got friends here, no matter what."

"Thank you," Kurt whispered. He didn't look grateful or appreciative, just - resigned. Finn felt the distance between them like it was miles. He stood, shuffling his feet.

"Thanks for this… party, Brad," Finn said, starting the group in motion. He needed to get Kurt home. He needed him like nothing else – nothing else he could have, anyway.

Everyone expressed their own thanks as they helped gather up dishes and music. Andi and Laurie each took one sleeping child to their bedroom and waved as people started to file out the door.

"Man," said Matt, in a subdued tone. "Kurt and…_ Puck?"_

Finn didn't say anything else. At the moment he just felt angry that Puck had left, that he'd caused Kurt to feel anything close to this unhappy. And he felt angry at himself for making him do it.

"See you guys on Tuesday," Mr. Schue called, waving out the door. He turned to Finn after everyone else had gone. "You all right?"

"No," he just said, and Mr. Schue sighed, pressing his lips together.

"Take care of each other," he said. "Don't let it get so bad that you stop talking."

_I don't think he wants to talk to me,_ he thought, and the look on Kurt's face as they walked out the door seemed to confirm this. Kurt wasn't going to let him in. Finn wasn't sure if it was because he was just hurting too much, or because he didn't want _Finn._ Either way, it made Finn squirm and flinch and hunch in on himself. Kurt climbed into the passenger seat without asking Finn to drive.

"That was really… " Finn said, and stopped.

"Awful," Kurt said in a frosty voice. "It felt awful."

He turned on the ignition. "That's not what I was going to say. It was beautiful, baby."

Kurt thawed a little. He sighed, leaning his head back on the seat. "Thank you. Yours... yours, too. Really."

Finn carefully steered the Navigator through the dark, snowy streets. "I don't think anybody was too surprised. Maybe Matt and Mike, but they were okay."

"No. But this is the easy step." Kurt's breath rattled in his chest. He sounded more hopeless than Finn had ever heard him. "I just can't help but think… that it doesn't matter anyway. That there's no point in caring at all. Because he's _not coming home."_

Finn stopped the car right there in the middle of the street and faced Kurt. "Don't say that," he said, not daring to use the Voice, but just being calm and reasonable. "He's got to come home. His daughter is here."

"I don't mean back to Lima." Kurt sniffed, making another pass with his bedraggled handkerchief over his eyes and nose. "I mean to _me._ To _us."_

"I think that's just going to take time." He touched Kurt's leg across the aisle. "Let's go home, all right? Your dad's going to worry if we don't get back soon."

Finn started slowly down the road, watching Kurt out of the corner of his eye. Kurt was taut as the smallest string on Puck's guitar, and his face looked like he was in actual pain. "Is it awful that I don't really care what my dad thinks right now?" he said bitterly. "I'm sorry, Finn, but... I just don't."

"It's not awful." Finn turned the corner and pulled slowly into the Hummel garage, turning off the car. They sat in silence in the dark for a long minute. He could feel the tension there between them. _The worst thing is, I know exactly what I could do to fix it,_ he thought. _Only I don't dare._

"Kurt," he said. "I'm sorry. I - I can't. Not after -"

"I know," Kurt said. "I'm not asking."

_You are,_ Finn thought miserably as he got out of the car. _Your body's screaming for it._ He opened Kurt's door, reached in and took his hand. Kurt fumbled his keys into the basement door and let Finn in ahead of him, flipping on the light. The family room was cold, and Kurt went right into his own room. Finn didn't follow. A few minutes later, Kurt's door closed.

"Kurt?" he heard Burt call down the stairs. "You guys home?"

_No._ Finn rested his head in his hands. _We're not._

* * *

><p>Carl unlocked the glass door and let Finn inside. He'd sounded so desperate on the phone. Carl was glad he'd been in the office, or he would have been tempted to meet him someplace more public, just to make sure he was all right. As it was, Finn looked pale and shaky and just this side of falling apart.<p>

"Come in," he said, flipping on the light to the hallway. "I'm just taking care of paperwork."

"I'm really sorry to bug you so late," Finn said. He sounded wretched, and Carl could tell he'd been crying for some time. He'd sent Angela home an hour earlier, and Davis was at his other office today, so he couldn't do much more than put water on for tea and set another log on the fireplace. He sat on the couch, and Finn joined him, clasping his hands and sighing.

"Don't worry about that. Tell me what's going on." He tried to project the right balance between assured and caring. Finn was probably beyond noticing anyway.

"We had a Glee rehearsal tonight," Finn said. His shoulders were tense, way up around his ears. "Each of us sang a song for someone else in Glee, like a secret Santa gift."

It was all Carl could do not to ask about her, but he didn't. This was about Finn, not about him. "Mmmm," he said.

"It was supposed to be fun. But Kurt... he couldn't... he decided to sing for Puck. For Noah." Finn's head fell into his hands. "He said he couldn't pretend anymore. But he -" His voice grew soft, hurt. "He didn't want to tell about him and _me._ Just about him and Puck."

"I imagine that was hard to hear," Carl said. He was unexpectedly moved by Finn's situation. It was hard to stay objective about these three young men and their complicated relationships. Finn sighed, long and deep, and leaned back onto the sofa.

"I didn't even care so much about that. It was that Kurt... he was _hurting,_ and I knew what I could do to help. It's like, he gets so wrapped up in his feelings that he can't deal with it anymore. He feels it, like, physically. And the - the spanking, it helps him."

"You can help him with that," Carl nodded, keeping his voice calm. "It sounds like you know just what you need to do."

Finn turned agonized eyes on him. "I can't," he protested. "I can't do... that. Not anymore."

"You can," Carl insisted firmly. "You need it, and he needs it. How can you deny both of you that?"

"How can I trust myself not to - not to _hurt _him?" Finn's hands moved restlessly over the couch cushion, digging fingers into the soft leather. Carl wished he could still that nervous energy, but it wasn't time yet. Finn needed to come to the answer first. "Puck and me, we were one thing. We've been friends - we wrestled, fought, even. But _Kurt..._ he needs it for a different reason entirely. I don't think I could forgive myself if I... if I hit him in anger. Not ever."

Carl put a patient hand on Finn's knee. "And I don't think you need to worry about making that mistake again. You're too aware of the line now - you won't cross it, no matter how angry you get." He leaned back. "As for the physical discipline... I don't know Kurt very well, but it seems to me that he craves intense stimulation more than he needs release. Being spanked or flogged probably helps him feel more in touch with his body, to get out of his head. Am I right?"

"Maybe - I mean, I guess." Finn blinked. "I never thought about it like that but - you're right."

"So you don't have to make it punitive, Finn. It can be sensual, loving."

Finn still looked mired in confusion and defeat. "I guess I don't get that."

Carl held out a hand to help him off the sofa. "Here. I'll show you." The hand was meant to be friendly, but the way Finn took it, clutched it, it felt more like he was grasping a lifeline. They looked at each other for a moment, then looked away just as quickly. _He's lonely,_ Carl reminded himself. _He's going to be needy._

Carl went around to his desk and opened a drawer, pulling out the black suede flogger that was his chosen implement for most non-pain play: soft to the touch, with plenty of give and flexibility, and wide enough tails that they could be draped over sore skin with excellent effect. "Take off your shirt," he said. "Some floggers are meant to be used with precision and caution, because they can do plenty of damage in the wrong hands. But a tool like this, it's very forgiving. You can hit just about as hard as you want without inflicting any damage at all."

Despite himself, Finn looked intrigued, and after pulling off his sweater, he touched the flogger with one hand, like he was petting it. Then he struggled out of his t-shirt and turned away, putting both hands on the stone wall of the fireplace. "How - how do you want me?" he asked, glancing back at Carl.

Carl tried not to laugh, because he knew Finn well enough to know it was meant in complete innocence. He wasn't going to tease him when he was sad and fearful like this. But he didn't expect to have to steel himself against his own response. Carl found himself running a gentle hand down Finn's back, from his neck to his back. Finn relaxed a tiny fraction.

"That's good," he said, somewhat hoarsely, and cleared his throat. "Just like that is fine." With a flick of his wrist, he swung the suede flogger, The tails were so long and voluminous, they covered half of Finn's back with one stroke. He watched Finn flinch away, expecting pain, but made a surprised noise when all he felt was the impact.

"Nice," he breathed, and closed his eyes.

Carl went on talking as he worked the tails up and down Finn's back. They made a satisfying sound, but Carl knew from experience the pain would come slowly, if at all. "Everyone needs a different level of sensation, Finn. It's your job to figure out what your boys need and choose the right tool. My partner Davis, for example, prefers it sharp and focused - cane, bullwhip - but even he likes this flogger every now and then."

Finn's head was dropping lower and lower between his shoulders, leaning against the fireplace, and Carl could see his breathing evening out as he let himself relax. He wasn't making much noise, just a little grunt with each impact. His hips shifted. Carl stopped, hesitated, then took the tails and trailed them down Finn's back, just as he had with his hand. Finn moaned.

_It's a teaching moment,_ Carl said, feeling light-headed. He stepped back a little from Finn, giving him space to feel the absence of sensation - that was almost more important than the strokes themselves.

"Do you think Kurt would appreciate this experience?" he said quietly.

Finn straightened up slowly, taking deep breaths. "Yeah," he said, his voice dark and rough. "He'd... he'd love it."

Carl turned away before Finn could make eye contact. "Excellent," he said briskly, rummaging in a drawer. "This tool belongs to me, but I can lend you a similar one. If it works out, I'll pass on the name of my preferred vendors and you can buy your own."

"Okay," Finn said, still sounding dazed. Carl found the flogger he was looking for, then returned to Finn with it and a cup of water, taking his arm and leading him to the couch, easing him down.

"Even though the pain is less, aftercare is just as important, following this kind of session," he said gently. "If you were one of my clients, I could have gone on for some time, but you'll learn with experience when enough is enough. How do you feel?"

Finn moved his neck from side to side, testing it, and rolled his shoulders. "Better," he admitted. "And... uh." His eyes flicked up to Carl, landing like a stroke of the flogger on his face. He colored.

"Mmmm," Carl nodded, trying not to smile. "That's normal, as I said. There's no reason why you and your boy can't make this an ordinary part of your sex lives, if it works that way for you. But it's not sexual for everyone."

Finn glanced up again, tentatively holding his gaze this time. His brown eyes were so earnest. "Is it... for you?" he asked.

"It is," he said, as steadily as he could. "But, as my own mentor taught me, it needs to be... mutual, and between consenting adults, for it to be acceptable."

"Kurt and me, we're not adults," Finn said.

"Actually, for the purposes of this kind of encounter, you are. In Ohio, anyway. Trust me, I'm very aware of the legalities of your presence here. If you were fifteen, you would never have been allowed to enter this establishment." He reached out and took the empty water cup, then set the brown suede flogger in Finn's hands, closing his fingers over it. "You can borrow that for a while."

"Thanks." Finn looked up, suddenly, as though he were waking up from a daydream. "Wow. That was... pretty intense."

"I imagine you'll find it even more powerful when there's love involved." He stood and checked Finn's back, which was red, but not raw. He touched a few spots on the edges where there'd been wraparound from some of the tails - _sloppy,_ he chided himself - and Finn shuddered. "You'll be a little tender tomorrow, but there won't be any marks."

"Thank you," he said, gazing at the tool in his hands. "I think I - Kurt -" He looked back to Carl and smiled, big and genuine, as he always was. It made Carl smile back, almost reflexively. "Thank you," he repeated. Then he reached out and hugged him, tight, almost fierce, and Carl's arms came up, startled, to hug back. Finn's bare back was warm from the flogging. Before he could say anything, Finn had let him go.

"I'd better..." he said, indicating the door, suddenly looking shy.

"Of course." Carl reached down and lifted Finn's t-shirt, handing it to him, then followed with his sweater. "Go home and take care of your boy, all right? Don't be embarrassed about this. It's never too late to tell him how you feel."

"I'm not embarrassed," Finn said, quietly. Carl looked at him then, and Finn looked back, for a long moment. It wasn't until Finn stood and walked to the door that Carl realized he'd been holding his breath. He shook his head to clear it.

"I'll be here tomorrow," he found himself saying, "but we're closed for the holiday after that. If you need anything, you can call and leave a message on our voice mail. Angela checks it in the morning every day."

"Okay." He heard the door open. "Thanks, again... Carl." It closed behind him.

Carl let his eyes close, and he rested his forehead in his hand. _Jesus. What the hell am I doing here?_ The worst part was, he knew the answer. He knew just as well that he wasn't going to do anything about it, but that didn't make it any easier.

_I crave inertia, every move made so I can stop  
><em>_Whatever this madness is in me spinning like a top  
><em>_on a bed of anxiety over a deep dark drop  
><em>_down into nothingness, into without-you-ness_

_Was it ever so evil creep like ivy,  
><em>_toe hold on the stronger half of nature's dichotomy  
><em>_Beating back a path through nothing more than pure insistence  
><em>_Until here becomes the distance_

_- Indigo Girls, "Leeds"_

* * *

><p>It felt like a dream at first, but Kurt woke up completely when he felt Finn's warm hands on his waist, tugging him out of his crumpled ball of sleep. "Baby," he heard Finn say.<p>

"This is becoming a habit, Finn," Kurt said, his words slurred. He rubbed his eyes and gazed up at him reproachfully. "I was having a good dream."

"This will be better," Finn promised. "Trust me." He unwound Kurt until he was lying on his stomach and gently pushed him flat; Kurt turned his head and sighed, relaxing into the pressure of Finn's hand. As Finn eased his pajama bottoms down, though, he tensed again.

"I thought you said..."

"Shh. I did. But this won't hurt you. I learned... something." Kurt couldn't quite see what was happening in the dim light of the room, but he could feel something soft touching his bare back. "Do you... do you trust me?"

"What kind of a stupid question is that?" Kurt grumbled. "You came into my room at -" he squinted at the clock. "- 12:23 in the morning and I barely twitched. Of course I trust you."

Finn paused, and only when he took a breath did Kurt realize he was crying. "Finn," he said, trying to twist around, but Finn pushed him back down on the bed, still gentle.

"That's good, baby," he said, his voice so full of love that Kurt melted into the mattress. "Thank you. That's - that's the best news I've had in a long time." Kurt felt the soft thing on his back again, whispering against his skin. "I'm going to take care of you now."

There was an - impact, he didn't know what else to call it, on the surface between his back and his bottom. _The small of his back,_ he knew it was called, but somehow it didn't feel very _small_ right now. Kurt felt the impact radiating through his body, as though all the nerves were connected to this part of him: his fingers, his toes, his neck, his cock. He gasped.

"Does it feel good?" Finn asked, still loving him with his voice.

"God," Kurt moaned, and he felt the impact again, harder, but there was no pain, just sweet relief. He felt his muscles, which had been tense even in sleep, finally begin to loosen. The impact fell on his back, his shoulders, his buttocks, his legs, and with each one he moaned again, until he heard Finn's chuckle.

"You want me to cover your mouth for you, baby, or do you think you can handle that? Because any louder and I'm pretty sure your dad's going to come downstairs."

"Shit," Kurt whimpered. "What _is_ that thing?"

"Suede flogger," said Finn, sounding a little smug. "Wow, huh?"

"Wow is right," Kurt agreed. He rolled over, almost boneless, and writhed beneath Finn's regard, feeling the stimulation from the impact follow him, his sensitized flesh rubbing against the sheets. He couldn't help it - he moaned again.

Finn came down on top of him, putting a firm hand over his mouth, and Kurt grew still under his restraining grip. He looked up into Finn's eyes, saw the residual hurt there, but it was muted under the love and desire shining through. _For me,_ he thought, with a burst of joy.

"I know it's not _enough,_ without him," he said, breathing heavily, and Kurt could feel Finn's hard cock, through Finn's jeans, against his thigh. "I know it's not - but that doesn't mean it's not _good._"

Kurt's head shook back and forth under Finn's hand, and Finn seemed to know what he meant. Because it was, it was _so_ good. Finn took his hand away, and replaced it with his mouth, kissing him thoroughly, holding his shoulders down, and Kurt felt the moans unfolding from inside himself again.

"Fuck me," Finn demanded, kneeling over him, and Kurt just nodded, eyes wide.

Finn stripped off his clothes and dropped them on the floor while Kurt struggled to sit up. He watched as Finn positioned himself on all fours, turning his head to look at Kurt, for all the world like a predator guarding its prey. Only _he_ was the one waiting to be consumed. Kurt whimpered as he knelt behind Finn.

"I don't think - Finn, this is going to be quick," he warned him.

"I know," Finn said shortly. "Me too. Now come _on_. Inside me. _Now."_

It was a little scary, without any lube, but he knew Finn wanted it that way, and honestly he was leaking enough to make it slippery all by himself. Finn was so tight and hot around him, and he groaned in what sounded like relief as Kurt pushed inside. _Finn has his own needs,_ he thought in a daze, trying not to go too fast, trying to -

Then Finn bucked his hips up against him with a growl, and it didn't matter who was kneeling behind whom, because Kurt realized he was _definitely_ not the one on top here. "Harder," Finn ordered, and Kurt obliged, pulling back and slamming into him, feeling the rub of that almost-too-dry friction. Finn groaned. "Yes - that's it. Come on, again. Do me just like that."

Kurt could only do as he told him, holding Finn's hips in his hands and trying to maintain that angle, because he wanted it to be good for him, wanted to give him - exactly what he wanted. And it seemed like he was succeeding, because Finn's body tensed under him, and he sped up the strokes all on his own, and with a stifled shout - "_God, yes -"_ Kurt felt him clenching around him. That was enough to drive him over the edge.

Their breathing slowed together, and he folded down on top of Finn's back, hearing him hiss before he realized what had happened. "Your back - oh, I didn't think," Kurt said, scrambling off, backing away from Finn on shaky legs.

"No, baby, it's okay," Finn said. "It doesn't hurt. Like yours doesn't, right?"

"No," Kurt agreed. He craned his neck, but there was no way he could see his own back without a mirror. Stretching full length, feeling extraordinarily _good,_ he lay down next to Finn, facing him. "No, it doesn't hurt. That was _amazing."_

He could hear Finn's smile. "Carl thought you'd like that."

"Remind me to thank him personally," Kurt agreed, nestling in against Finn's body, ignoring the wet spot beneath them. "Are you - are you okay? That was kind of... intense."

"Yeah," he said, wrapping his arms around Kurt's back, gingerly brushing his skin. It didn't hurt, exactly, but it was a little raw. "It was just what I wanted."

Kurt lay there in his embrace as Finn pulled the duvet up. "Another school night," he said drowsily. "You'd better go. My dad's going to kill me if he sees you here in the morning."

Finn sighed in satisfaction. "I hate to say it, but I'm pretty sure he knows I'm here already. You were loud enough to wake up the whole house."

Kurt guessed this might be right, but somehow, as he slipped into sleep, he couldn't find it in himself to care.

* * *

><p>Burt gritted his teeth against the noises coming from his son's room downstairs and poured himself another glass of water. <em>It's better than the crying,<em> he thought. _Sort of. _ He wondered what kind of world it was coming to when his teenage son was getting more than _he_ was.

"Mr. Hummel?" He glanced up to see Sarah standing at the top of the half-staircase, rubbing her eyes.

"Oh - Sarah, you should be in bed," he said, anxiously, but she just shook her head, yawning.

"Bad dream. I think I need some of that warm milk." She padded down the stairs in her bare feet, looking even younger than usual in one of Puck's old t-shirts and a pair of grey yoga pants. Burt turned red as the noises from downstairs floated up to the kitchen again. Sarah looked at him and grinned as she got the milk out of the fridge. "It's okay, Mr. Hummel," she assured him. "Those are good sounds. It doesn't bother me."

"Wish I could say the same," he muttered, and got the heavy pot and wooden spoon for stirring. She poured the milk and he turned on the stove.

"Really," she insisted. "Believe me, in the world of scary noises I grew up with, when I heard those ones, I knew my Ma was going to be happy the next day. And Noah, later. Though he was never scary." She shrugged, taking the spoon from him and beginning to stir.

He put a hand on her hair and stroked it, sighing. "It's hard to hear about the house where you grew up, sometimes, kiddo."

"It's hard to think about it, Mr. Hummel," she said soberly.

"All right, now. We've got to figure this out." He stepped back to regard her. "You can't keep calling me that. Not... not now."

"No," she agreed. "Not now. What should I call you, though? You're not my dad. Not yet, anyway."

"No," he echoed, feeling a blaze of pleasure at the _not yet._ "But I don't like this 'Mr.' business. Why don't you just call me Burt?"

"I guess," she said, but she sounded doubtful. She paused in stirring. "There was a name my Nana called her father."

He waited, giving her space. She took hold of the spoon and carefully tapped off the milk, setting it on the counter. Then she turned to him, putting her thin hands around his waist, and her hazel eyes gazed solemnly up into his face.

"Tatenui," she said, and rested her head on his chest.

He closed his eyes and held her close, smelling her hair. "That's nice," he murmured. "I can be that. What's it mean?"

He felt, more than heard, her soft sigh. "Father dear."


	31. Chapter 31

"It's begun already," Kurt murmured to Finn over breakfast, showing him his Facebook wall on his phone. "I've got three private messages and six posts about, and I quote from one of them, 'converting Puckerman to the gay side.'" Kurt made a face, gazing down at the screen. "Excuse me. Four private messages. For Gaga's sake, I don't think that's even physically _possible."_

"Somebody talked," Finn sighed, starting on his second bowl of cereal. He glanced up at the clock. "We still have time to stop at the office and speak with Figgins, if you're worried. Might as well get all your backup in place, right?"

"Please. The day I use Figgins as backup is the day - oh, hi, Dad." Kurt's voice changed, became more subdued, as Burt, Sarah and - Finn gulped - his _mother_ came into the kitchen. Burt pulled a chair right up to the table and glared at Kurt.

"Good morning," he said, turning his laser-powered stare on Finn. "Looks like somebody broke one of our rules last night."

"I can explain," Kurt said, holding up a hand.

"Kurt came out about his relationship with Puck last night, at our caroling practice," Finn said, before Kurt could work himself any deeper with Burt. His mom made a noise of surprise. "Everybody in Glee knows. And now apparently the whole school does, too."

"Kurt," Burt said, his face shifting to concerned. "I - I had no idea you were planning to do that. We should have talked about it first. I mean - it might affect things, you know, like we talked about."

"I know, Dad." Kurt stared down at his half-eaten cereal bowl. He pushed it away. "I just couldn't pretend anymore."

"So... you and Finn...? Are you...?" Burt made a finger-wagging motion, raising his eyebrows.

"Dad," Kurt said solemnly, putting a hand on his shoulder, "I'm dating Finn. Sorry to break it to you."

"Uh, I think you did that adequately last night," Burt snapped back, and Kurt turned scarlet, scowling at the floor. "You know exactly what I meant. Are the two of _you_ out, too?"

"No, we're not," Finn said quietly. "Kurt said he wasn't ready."

Burt stared at Kurt in perplexed annoyance. "I don't get it."

Carole spoke up, putting two hands on Burt's shoulders from behind. "I think Finn means it would be a good idea to wait until things settle down about Puck and Kurt before they decide what to tell people about their relationship." She looked meaningfully at Finn. "Does that sound about right?"

Finn looked at Kurt, then back to his mother, and nodded. "Uh... sure."

"Because it makes sense to consider all angles when you're in a different sort of relationship, like this one," she went on, and Finn could see the way she was kind of _leaning_ on Burt, and he was calming down. _Huh,_ he thought. "And when lots of people's lives are affected. Like Sarah's, for example."

"Hey, no big," Sarah said. "Tatenui and me, we're good."

They all stared at Sarah, but she took a big bite of cereal and looked across the table at Burt, expectantly.

"Yeah," he said gruffly. "Uh... I guess that's me now. Tat... Tatenui?" He checked with Sarah, who nodded, smiling. He flushed. "Sarah's... well, she's coming to live here. Permanently."

Finn turned to look at Kurt, but he was calm as he reached across the table to take Sarah's hand. "We don't know what's going to happen with Noah," he said. "But at least we can do this."

Sarah grinned at him. "It's just a more official way of having Kurt as a brother." She turned her eyes on Finn, looking innocent. "Now you and Kurt just need to get married, and then I'll have all three of you. Four with Timmy."

"Sarah," Burt said in a warning tone, while Finn spit out his mouthful of cereal.

His mom looked like she was trying not to laugh. "You know, that's not actually legal in Ohio," she said to Sarah. "Whatever they decide to do, though, it'll be years from now, when they're adults. They're already having plenty of trouble with the adult freedoms they've been given."

"Mom, I told you, it was an unusual -" Finn protested, wiping up the milk he'd spit out.

"Staying over at Burt's house twice in two days doesn't count as unusual," she said. "I guess it's a moot point, since we're coming up on the holidays and everything… but Finn, we're counting on you and Kurt to be responsible. That means following through on your agreements."

He nodded. "I'm sorry. I did ask, the night before last."

"That counts for something," Burt concurred.

Carole set her own bowl down next to Sarah and put an arm around her, kissing her cheek. "I brought home some paperwork, for you and Burt to fill out," she said. "It'll get things moving, but you can expect it to take about six months before things become official."

"I don't care about official," she said, but Burt waved her away.

"It's all grownup stuff. Insurance and inheritance and all that. It'll get taken care of. But we still have to resolve things with your father before we can move forward. Timothy's going to help me make contact with him. Well - again."

"Again?" Sarah said, but Kurt put a hand on his dad's arm and shook his head. They hadn't wanted Noah to know about the unexpected visit from Aaron Puckerman; it wouldn't help at all for Sarah to know, either.

"I brought that thing you wanted from my house, Sarah," Carole said, taking a lumpy something out of her pocket and handing it to her. Sarah brightened, successfully redirected from asking about her father.

"It's not-a-rock," she said happily. "Thanks. I wanted to show it to Frances. I got her an amber necklace for Han- I mean, for Christmas, and I wanted to see if she could guess what it was first."

"Speaking of Christmas," Burt said, "we're going to need to make some kind of plans. As in dinner plans."

Kurt sighed and pushed his chair out from the table, taking his bowl to the sink. "I don't think I'm up for trying to make dinner again," he said. "Not after Thanksgiving. Can't we go out?"

"I'll do it," Sarah offered. "I mean, if you guys will help, and pay for it, I can plan the menu and supervise and stuff."

Finn grinned at her across the table. "That would be awesome. Why didn't we think of that at Thanksgiving?"

"You sure you're up for that, kiddo?" Burt said. "Not that your dinners haven't been great this week. You're some cook."

"I can do it," she insisted. "Me and Noah, we've cooked tons of stuff together. It's not so different."

Finn hadn't even consciously thought as far as Christmas dinner, but he realized how much that must have been on his mind, because he suddenly felt a hell of a lot more relaxed.

Kurt's phone rang as they got ready to go to school, and his face set into a thin line as he glanced at the screen. "Rachel," he said. "Come to give me the third degree about Noah, no doubt."

But she was perfectly polite, as it turned out. "She wanted to invite Sarah to Hanukkah services tonight," he said, staring at the phone like it might have further answers as to her motivation. "Mercedes told her where she was staying."

"Cool," said Sarah, but she sounded less than inspired.

"Why don't you invite Frances to go?" Kurt said, and Finn saw her face change suddenly. She wasn't upset, but she looked a little - determined.

"Maybe," she said, and her voice was mild.

"She didn't say anything about Puck?" Finn murmured, as Kurt shouldered his bag.

"Not one word," he said, looking mystified. "Could it be she hasn't heard about you two yet?"

Kurt insisted on dropping Finn off a few blocks from school and driving the rest of the way himself. "It's going to be brutal enough today without you getting the fallout too," he said. "I've got two changes of clothes and some of that miracle product that takes out the slushies. Can you bring them up to our room and leave them there?"

"Sure, baby," he said. Kurt glanced around the empty street before giving him a kiss.

"Last night was incredible," he said, smiling, "and so worth getting in trouble. Thank you."

Finn watched him drive off and sighed, sending a text to Mercedes. _He's on his way in. Keep an eye on him?_

_Will do,_ she replied right away. _You two okay?_

_We're cool,_ he told her, and he actually felt like it was true. At least today he didn't feel like he had to hide in the Indigo Girls and Neil Diamond CDs in order to survive the day.

But he got accosted by no fewer than six people on the way through the front door with comments about Puck, and none of them were particularly kind. The consensus seemed to be that Puck had left town rather than be outed publicly by Kurt. Some people were convinced Puck and Kurt had fooled around on a dare. At least he didn't hear one word about Puck and Finn, or Finn and Kurt.

It wasn't until lunch that he got a chance to hear something even vaguely positive, and that was from Matt.

"You know," Matt said, grabbing a slice of pizza, "he's such an individual. Like, he doesn't care what other people think about him. I really admire that about him."

"I guess," said Finn, because that was probably true about people who didn't matter. He didn't say anything about how much Puck cared about people who _did_ matter. He wondered if he even fit into that category anymore.

"Even if he does crazy stuff sometimes." He stopped walking and blinked. "Dude. I bet that means what I heard about what happened at Fight Club was _true."_

"Fight Club?" Finn said. They slid into their usual lunch table, where Quinn and Mike were already waiting. He gave them a half-wave.

"D- Karofsky told me," said Matt. "Puck went to Fight Club last month, in Caro."

"You're not supposed to talk about Fight Club," Mike hissed, but Quinn rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, he went. He told me he was going." She bit down on a carrot stick. "Matt, why are you feeding the rumor mill about Puck? It's already going crazy. I heard someone say this morning he was actually pregnant with Kurt's baby and he left school to incubate the fetus in privacy."

"Yeah, like Kurt would be the top," Mike snickered. They all stared at him. "What?" he said.

Finn shook his head in annoyance. "Dude, what is all this about Fight Club? Like, the movie?"

"Yeah, man," Matt said, lowering his voice, "but I heard Puck was there, and he totally went off with some guy afterwards to the bathroom and... you know."

"Gross," Mike said, making a face. "In the bathroom? Seriously nasty."

Quinn was watching Finn with growing anxiety, so he figured some of what he was feeling must be showing on his face. "Why would you even believe _any_ of the rumors?" she scoffed.

"I would," Finn said. He felt vaguely nauseated. "That sounds exactly like Puck."

"Nice," Quinn said. "Some best friend you are."

"Some best friend _he_ is," he shot back, and stumbled to his feet. "I'll see you guys in English."

Finn didn't make it to English. He went straight to where he knew Karofsky and Azimio had their lunch every day, behind the north stairwell, and hauled him out bodily. "Needing a little hands on action with a real man?" Dave blustered, but he looked wary as Finn pulled him outside to the courtyard.

"I need information," he said. "And it better be the truth. Puck - and Fight Club."

Karofsky smirked. "Your boyfriend's fucking around behind your back with anonymous older guys," he boasted.

"Yeah, well, I'm not surprised," Finn said. "Just tell me what you know."

Karofsky's smirk dropped. "You're not denying it," he said. "He's really...?"

"I'm not saying anything," Finn said, pushing him back a step. "I'm telling you, you'd better be honest. What happened at Fight Club?"

"Why should I tell you anything, _Finn?"_ Now he looked hostile, and - something else. Hurt? "What the hell do you care what I have to say anyway?"

"I don't. But it seems you're the source for this rumor. Who told you he was there?"

"Nobody told me, asshole. _I_ was there." Dave crossed his arms, but Finn wasn't intimidated. There was too much history between him and Dave for this kind of attitude to matter.

"You saw him go off with this guy?" he pressed. "Who was it?"

"He lives in Fort Shawnee. You wouldn't know him. But yeah, I know exactly what happened. Puck got in a few good punches, got hit a couple times, and he totally got off on it. Mostly guys go home to their wives and girlfriends, but not Puck." Dave sounded remarkably calm about this, even satisfied. "He's just as perverted as I always knew he was."

Finn searched Dave's face for the lie, but he didn't see one. He sighed. "Okay."

Dave stared at him. "What - that's it? You're not going to try to kick my ass, because I think we've established there's no fucking way you -"

"No," said Finn. "I'm not." He felt suddenly exhausted. "Thanks. That's all."

Dave took a step back, his eyes flickering over Finn's face. His gaze hardened. "He was never your friend, you know," he said. "He never really -"

Finn's arm shot out and slammed Dave up against the wall, catching his throat. "Don't," he said in a low tone. "Don't talk about him. Don't even fucking _think_ about him." He let Dave go, sliding down the wall to crouch by himself, hearing every comment that had been bandied about this morning echoing in his ears. _He's not yours. He's mine. _

"Jesus, Finn," Dave said, straightening his shirt and backing away down the hall, looking offended. "He's not worth it."

_I'm beginning to wonder,_ he thought, burying his head in his hands.

* * *

><p>The five of them had a quick dinner before Sarah went off with Rachel for Hanukkah services - pasta with sauce and vegetables on the side, nothing fancy, but Sarah was in a hurry. "What are you supposed to do on Friday night dinner?" Burt asked. "I know there's something."<p>

"Shabbas," Sarah said. "You light candles and say a blessing over them. And bread. That's pretty much it. I don't know the words very well, though. Plus it's supposed to be a man. Or a boy." She suddenly looked uncertain, almost lost. It was disconcerting.

"How did things go today, Kurt?" Carole asked softly, passing him the pasta.

"Remarkably calm," he said, hoping he didn't sound too fake. "Lots of words, no slushies or anything else. I think people were waiting to hear what everybody else said before deciding what to do." In truth, there had been quite a few threats, but all of them had sounded empty to Kurt, and he hadn't heard anything from Azimio or Karofsky. He turned to Finn. "Missed you today, after lunch?"

"Yeah," Finn muttered, but didn't say anything more. Kurt sighed. He was definitely ready to say goodbye to Moody Finn.

"The American Music Awards are on tomorrow night," Sarah said, reaching for the broccoli. "We've got this tradition that Noah makes chocolate chip cookies for awards shows, but I'll do it, since he's not here. Can Timmy come over?"

They deliberated the chances of Lady Gaga winning for best new performer until Rachel appeared in the driveway. She looked a little surprised to see Finn in the family room, but she didn't say anything about it.

"I'll have her home by 9:30," she said, as she swept Sarah out the door.

"Happy Hanukkah, Rachel," said Kurt, as he waved after them.

The dishes were done, and his dad and Carole were looking more than a little cuddly, so he managed to convince Finn to come down to the basement with him. "There's no way they're going to do anything in front of us," he said, linking arms with Finn. "I think we should stay down here for the rest of the evening."

Finn was too much in his own head to notice the innuendo. It was frustrating, that Finn had... tools... to get him out of a space like this, but he didn't have the same tools for him. Finally, after several minutes of sitting on the couch, waiting for him to get what Kurt was not saying, he let out an exasperated breath and climbed on top of him. "Okay," he said, sitting nose to nose. "You've got two choices. Either you tell me what's going on, or you can just go the hell home. I've got enough ennui in my own brain to last for ages without you adding yours."

Finn looked surprised, and then guilty. "I - okay." He took a deep breath. "I heard today that Puck went to this thing. Fight Club."

Kurt paused, sitting back on Finn's lap. "Like the movie."

"Yeah. Like the movie." He sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair, in a gesture that was exactly Puck. Kurt wondered if Finn realized he'd done it. "He... you know what it's about."

"Testosterone-laden excuses for hetero-approved male contact?" Kurt guessed, and Finn gave him a tired smile.

"Something like that. And... god, Kurt, you know how he gets when he... when I... how he is when he gets hit." He ran a thoughtful hand over Kurt's chest. "I wonder how much of football is all about that."

"Finn." Kurt rolled his eyes. "_All _of football is about that. So what about the Fight Club?"

"You're not going to like this." He eyed Kurt unhappily. "He got involved... like, he hit some guy, and the guy hit him, and then afterwards, he... uh." His eyes dropped to his lap.

"Finn?" Kurt felt the looming sensation of something horrifying on the horizon. He climbed off Finn and sat next to him on the couch, holding his hands, willing him to say what needed to be said, while at the same time hoping he wouldn't say it.

Kurt felt his phone buzz, and he pulled it out of his pocket in exasperation. "This better be im-" The rest of the word was lost in his throat, and he found himself staring open-mouthed at the screen.

_1 text - Mike X. Chang  
><em>_9:14 pm - Baby, I miss you so much._

"It's Noah," he whispered. Finn stiffened and craned his neck to see, then swore.

"I can't believe him," he fumed, but Kurt hushed him, thumbs already moving to type a response.

_Noah, sweetheart, where are you? We've been going crazy with worry. _

He paused. "You want to say anything?"

Finn's eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms over his chest. "He can text _me_ if he wants to say anything."

"Have it your way," Kurt snapped. He continued typing: _I miss you so much too. You didn't have to leave. I love you, sweetheart._

"Jesus, Kurt," Finn said, rolling his eyes. "He's totally playing you."

"It's a free world, Finn," Kurt said tightly. "And this is _my_ house. You can leave any time you want."

Finn just stared at him stonily. The reply came back right away, and they both swiveled their eyes to the screen, because for all of Finn's anger, he was as desperate for contact at Kurt was.

_I did have to,_ he said. _I told sarah I would be fine._ _pls don't call. be back in town soon._

"Don't call? What does that mean?" Finn was livid.

"It's the same thing he's been doing all along. He needs his space." Kurt couldn't explain to Finn how suddenly he could _feel_ again, how the things inside him that had been shut off when Noah walked out of his house were _on_ again, and he was _alive, _he was every piece of himself again. It didn't matter one bit what Noah had been doing while he was gone. He was here, again, and Kurt could breathe a full lungful of air, could finish the phrase he'd started.

_Okay, _he replied. He didn't want to scare him off. _Can't you at least tell me where you are right now? I just want to know._

The reply came: _in santa fe visiting A,N and D. _

"Alex," Finn said, his voice low. "I should have known."

"Why are you so threatened by him?" Kurt asked petulantly, clutching his phone. "Noah _left_ him to come back to Ohio, for _you,_ before he even knew that you were in love with him. Why –"

"Because he left _us,_ to go back to Santa Fe," Finn said. He sounded like he was close to snapping, and Kurt stopped pushing.

The phone vibrated again, and this time, it said: _I met a guy tonight. he kind of reminds me of you._

Kurt felt his heart constrict, and all he could think was, _God. It's that boy in the club. _But of course that was ridiculous. He paused for a moment and closed his eyes on the tears that came, unbidden.

"Kurt," Finn said, like a plea, reading the text.

"Shut up," Kurt muttered. "Just _shut up."_

Then he wiped his nose, and sent: _Sweetheart, are you being safe?_

_Yes,_ came the immediate reply. "Well, that's something, at least," he said.

"Do you believe him?" Finn challenged.

"Yes," Kurt repeated, knowing he sounded stubborn and unreasonable and not caring. He took a resolute breath and typed his next text: _Am I still your baby?_

"Kurt," Finn said again, and this time it sounded hurt. Kurt closed his eyes again, warding Finn's useless questions away, until his phone buzzed again with the reply.

_Always._

He shook with relief, wrapping his arms around himself, holding on euntil Finn finally said, wearily, "All right, baby," and pulled him into his lap, giving him the safe place he needed to fall apart.

Once he'd wiped his eyes and recovered enough to read, he found another text:

_Be back in ohio before christmas._

He sniffed, and replied: _Just come home. I'll be waiting for you._

"God, Kurt," Finn said into his hair, clutching him tight. "How many times are you going to let him break your heart?"

"As many times as he'll let me," he said, and heard Finn's sigh. "Don't tell me you wouldn't do the same."

Finn didn't reply, but Kurt knew the answer.

Noah didn't text again, and Finn eventually got up and went to stand outside on the porch, letting the snow fall into his hair, until Sarah got home and they came inside together.

"What happened?" Sarah begged, and Kurt showed her the text history. Her response was unexpected: she breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay. That's good."

"That's _good?"_ Finn burst out. Kurt couldn't remember a time when he'd ever yelled in front of Sarah. He tensed, ready to defend her, but she didn't seem affected by it.

"Yeah," she said. "He's safe. He's sober. He's with people who care about him. I don't think I can really ask for more than that."

Kurt and Finn glanced at each other, and then back at Sarah. "Oh," said Finn.

"Yeah," Kurt said, glaring at Finn, but Sarah laughed.

"You guys are acting like it's the end of the world. It's just _Noah._ He went away; he'll be back soon. Really. You've got each other – I mean, isn't that, like, the best thing ever?"

"Almost," Finn said, and turned back to Kurt, his eyes apologetic.

"Almost," Kurt agreed, and he tucked himself into Finn's embrace.

* * *

><p>He'd done everything he could think of. His office was spotless. All his paperwork was done and double-checked. He'd filed everything properly, though usually he would have left it for Angela, would have gone home and made himself a nice dinner and picked up the latest Preston and Child novel, or turned on the television and watched an episode of whatever was on, or even spent an evening at the leather club in Columbus. But not tonight.<p>

No, tonight Carl was sitting in the middle of his clean, empty office, the fire banked, the subs sent home, feeling inordinately… twitchy.

Finally he sighed, reached under his desk and slid out his guitar case, battered and fraying along the edges. The guitar itself was in good condition, black wood, well-loved and much played. The song his fingers went to was equally well-played, and his voice caressed the familiar words. The song had been released the year she'd been born, and would forever be connected to her, in his mind.

_Goodnight my angel  
><em>_Time to close your eyes  
><em>_And save these questions for another day  
><em>_I think I know what you've been asking me  
><em>_I think you know what I've been trying to say  
><em>_I promise I would never leave you  
><em>_And you should always know  
><em>_Wherever you may go  
><em>_No matter where you are  
><em>_I never will –_

"Carl?" came the soft voice, and he stopped playing, his heart pounding.

"Finn," he said, when he had caught his breath. "I… hadn't realized I'd left the door unlocked."

"Sorry – I didn't mean to freak you out." He sat down on the couch, smiling at the instrument on Carl's lap. "You play guitar? That sounded nice."

"Some. Mostly I'm a drummer."

Finn's smile widened. "No kidding? Me, too. Hey, could I hear you play some time?"

His enthusiasm was infectious, and Carl found himself smiling right back, and the words _sure, anytime_ were on his lips, when he swallowed them and gave a little shake of his head. "I think that falls outside of our professional relationship, Finn."

"Oh. Right." Finn seemed taken aback, and looked so disappointed that Carl almost relented. _He sure does wear his heart on his sleeve._ "Well… you've got your guitar out, already. What was that you were playing?"

He shrugged. "Nothing. Billy Joel – you know him?"

"Dude, I wasn't born under a rock," Finn said, laughing. Carl felt it in his gut, curling, taking root, sending up tendrils of new growth. _Dammit._

"Sorry, Finn," he said, setting the guitar away. "Not tonight. Is there something I can help you with?"

Finn looked at a loss, and Carl could see what was going to happen: he would have nothing for him, and then he would say goodnight. And that would be it, for a week or more, while the office was closed. It was far too distressing to consider.

"Puck… he texted us tonight." He winced. "Texted _Kurt."_

"Well," Carl said, smiling. _That's what kids do now – they don't call. They text. _He felt suddenly old, old and ridiculous and entirely too aware of himself to be in this position. He put on a positive face. _Show face,_ his directors used to call it. In his business – not in the dentist's office, his _other_ business – his show face was usually stern and intense, but tonight it was comforting, inquisitive. "I suppose that was a relief."

"Yeah, I – I guess. I mean, _yes._ He's safe. He's, um, with friends." Finn ran a hand over his forehead, and Carl saw at a glance how distressed he was.

"Finn, what happened?" he said quietly, and Finn looked up at him, his brow knitting.

"He said he – he met somebody. A man." He closed his eyes. "Shit," he croaked. "I'm sorry. I said – I wasn't going to do this."

"Come here." Carl was moving before he thought, beckoning Finn close, opening his arms, and Finn apparently wasn't thinking either, because he was moving before Carl did, and he fell to pieces there on the couch. _He's probably been on edge all day, after what happened with Kurt, _he thought, his hands on the young man's neck, stroking, giving comfort as he cried.

"This is so stupid," he said, trying to pull away, but Carl held him firm, keeping him close.

"It's human," he insisted. "Allow yourself to be that, at least, Finn."

Finn shook his head, and the hairs on his neck brushed Carl's face. He hadn't shaved today. Carl resisted the urge to touch the stubble.

"This man," he said instead. "Tell me about him."

"I don't know anything about him," Finn said, with a frustrated sigh. "Okay, he's something like Kurt. Which is to say not much like _me._ And he said he was a _man,_ not a boy."

Carl nodded, adjusted his position subtly so Finn could rest against him. "Is that a problem?"

"No," Finn said after a moment. "He – Puck has other lovers, people he met before us. A man, Alex. He's in his thirties, I don't know. And some girls – women, in their twenties."

"Do the three of you have an agreement about seeing other people?"

"Yes," Finn allowed. "Kind of. He's the only one who ever did, I mean, so far, but we – I suggested we use condoms with – other people. Puck said he was being safe. So I hope he is."

"That's a reasonable expectation," he nodded again. "You were smart to suggest it."

Finn chewed on his lip and stared across the room. "It's stupid for me to be so bent out of shape, just because he's a _man,"_ he burst out. "I don't – I _never_ cared if he had girls. Even the ones _I _was trying to date. I mean, I didn't care, as long as he was happy." His gaze fell to the floor. "Jesus. I'm such an idiot."

"Have respect for yourself, even if you're not feeling confident, please," he said, with a little force behind his words, and Finn sat up straighter on the couch. "Why is it so much worse if it's a man?"

"I don't know."

"Take a guess, then," Carl suggested. "You're a smart young man."

Finn closed his eyes, bending his head to rest on Carl's shoulder. "I don't feel that way."

"Which way," he had to ask. Finn's breath landed right on his neck with each rise and fall of his chest. It was distracting. "Smart? Or… a young man?"

"Smart," Finn confirmed. "I think people think I'm kind of slow. I don't do all that well in school – I mean, I work hard enough to get B's. That's okay with me. But I don't think anyone's ever said I was… smart, before. Not and meant it, anyway. Maybe my mom."

"Not your dad?" Carl stroked his shoulder through his t-shirt. The boy hadn't even bothered to put on a jacket. Or maybe he'd left it in the reception room. Regardless, it was warm enough in here to be without one.

Finn shook his head. "No dad. He died when I was a baby."

_Ah,_ he thought. _Bingo._ "Just you and your mother, then?"

"Yeah. She's awesome, though. I'm lucky, luckier than most. Puck's family – they were a lot more messed up. I mean, everybody's got a little mess in their family, I guess, but his was worse than most. Now… he's just got us." He swallowed. "Maybe. Or maybe he won't… maybe he won't come back." The last was said in a whisper.

"Would it be better if he didn't?"

Finn jerked his head up. "What? I don't –"

Carl gazed at his face, so close, trying not to pull away, not to scare him. "I mean, would it be better for him? Better if he stayed with his lovers, where he is now?"

Finn thought about this. He always did. He considered everything, every mistake, every choice. Carl knew this could just be a part of his obedience, but he knew boys pretty well, and he didn't think that was it. Finn listened to his intuition, but he did it after thinking rationally about the options. _He was a good boy, _he realized, _not because he wanted to be good for someone else, but for himself. _

"No," he said, moving his lips carefully, and Carl had to retrace the steps of their conversation to remember what he was saying _no_ about.

"No, it wouldn't be better?"

"No," Finn repeated. He sounded more certain now. "No, even if things are bad now. No, even though – even though I don't always trust him. Even though I'm still pissed at him. I still want him to come home, to me." A flicker of pain crossed his face. "God. Kurt sang this song – last night. And I sang one. About coming home. But he – he wrote me a letter, when he left. It said he needed to find his own home, and that this wasn't it."

"It's good that he realized that," Carl said. "Now, wherever he goes, he can look for where he belongs, and until then, he'll make his home inside himself."

"Yes," Finn said, nodding. He sat up, wiping his face. "That's what he wanted to do. He – he wanted to be his own missing piece. For his daughter, so he could care for her."

"Well." Carl smiled to himself. "I don't think we ever really feel like we know enough to satisfy all the questions our children might ask."

Finn cocked his head. "Do you have kids?"

"One," he said. "A girl. She's grown now, like you."

"Funny," Finn said. "I don't feel much like I'm grown, sometimes."

"We all feel like that, no matter how old we get." He watched Finn stretch and move restlessly, and he felt that same anxiety he'd felt before Finn had walked in. _It's been a half hour. This was enough. This was plenty. This is absurd._

"Maybe you can sing me something," he found himself suggesting. Immediately he saw Finn's affable grin, and wished he could take it back.

"Sure," he said, and Carl picked up his guitar. "Like what?"

Carl noodled around on the guitar, playing some riffs from classic rock tunes, until he saw Finn's face shift to recognition:

_Hey, Jude, don't make it bad  
><em>_Take a sad song and make it better  
><em>_Remember to let her into your heart  
><em>_Then you can start to make it better…_

Finn was an untrained but enthusiastic singer, and he had a surprising amount of presence when he sang, and a hell of an upper range. He was able to stick with the melody while Carl wove harmonies around the line. _Not bad for four months of Glee club. I'll have to meet this director of theirs and thank him… _ He gave himself a little shake. _What are you doing?_

But his stubborn side, that still ruled his life to some extent, even after all these years, apparently was in his guitar, or in his fingers, anyway, and he shifted to another song when the first one ended. "Morrison," he said, smiling when Finn shook his head, not recognizing it. "Every young man should know the Doors. I'll lend you an album."

_Hello, I love you, won't you tell me your name  
>Hello, I love you, let me jump in your game<em>

It went on like that for some time, until he realized it was after eleven, and young men had curfews. And parents to get home to. And a lover.

"This was – nice," Finn said softly, and Carl had to force himself not to jerk away from the touch on his knee. "Not really what I had planned when I came over here."

"Sometimes it's hard to know what we need until we're in the moment," Carl said, but he saw Finn's glance at the desk, and he wondered what he might choose, if he were to send him over to select a tool. Would it be the suede flogger again? Something harsher?

"Kurt… loved the one you gave me last night," he said, looking away. "It was just right. For… for both of us." Finn's face was red, and Carl guessed he understood something of what he was talking about.

"I'm glad you could get what you needed from your partner," Carl said. "So many of my clients come to me because they don't have that. You do." He said the words as much for himself as for Finn. "Don't forget it."

"I do get what I need from Kurt. More than I thought I did, even. Last night… well. I guess you don't need details. But…" He turned to the desk again. "I guess… I _didn't know_ there were things I needed that I wasn't getting, until… I did."

"It's often that way," Carl said, standing and moving to the desk. _He's here for this. I shouldn't deny him, just because… _He put his hands on the desk.

"Finn," he said, with no small regret. "I need to set some boundaries here. We're overstepping the ordinary client relationship in several ways. I'm not sure you realize you're doing it, so I don't want you to feel bad about that. I'm not upset."

"Oh," said Finn, surprise evident on his face. He watched him attempt to shed his guilt, and be partially successful. "Um, I'm sorry, anyway," he offered.

"It's not just you," he assured him. "I'm as much at fault here as you are. But we can be aware of it, and… be cautious."

"Do you think I should… I mean, I can go," Finn said.

_No. Please don't._ "Only if you've gotten what you came for," he said.

Finn paused and considered this, still thoughtful, still methodical, even in the face of denial. _Strong, and confident. _Carl admired this, perhaps more than anything about him.

"I think I need – I mean, if it's okay –" He looked again at the desk, hesitant now.

"It's okay, Finn," he said gently. "Go on. Choose your tool."

Carl watched the young man walk to the desk and touch the items in the drawer. _He has no way of knowing those are all mine. That I never use them with clients._ He closed his eyes. _No two ways about it. You played this wrong from the start._

"Carl?"

He opened his eyes and looked up to see – god, what was he doing? – Finn crouching down, on one knee, so their eyes were even, to present the tool to him. _Where the fuck did he learn that?_ he thought, wildly, and stood, stepping away.

"What did I – ?"

"Finn," he said. His breath was coming a little too fast for clear speech. "This… we've got to stop. I'm sorry, I know I said it was okay, but I can't do this."

Finn looked like he'd been slapped. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"It's not you. It's… this isn't right. You're a very good boy." Finn flushed at this, and Carl pressed on, "But I can't be what you want me to be, here, like this. I've – I've handled things badly."

"No – Carl, you didn't. Please." The word tore at him, and he flinched away. "I'm learning so much. You're – you're helping me. I can be better, and you're helping me. Won't you - I mean, I didn't know I needed this. I need this."

"I know," he said, hardly loud enough to be heard. "I know. I do too. That's the problem." Then, louder, but still gentle and steady, "Finn. I apologize for my inappropriate behavior. I'll do what I can to make it right. I'll find another mentor for you. There are other men in the area, maybe in Columbus, who –"

"No!" Finn's voice was rising even as Carl's was dropping. He got to his feet, his several inches height advantage never before so apparent. "That's not what I want."

"I'm sorry, Finn," Carl said, regretfully. "What you want, or what I want, here, that's not the most important thing." He turned his back on him and waited. "Good night."

He heard him moving, but the movement wasn't toward the door. He closed his eyes as he felt Finn approaching him from behind. He was hyper-aware of the warmth of his body, inches from his own. Finn's hands came down on his shoulders and tried to turn him around.

"Finn," he whispered, resisting, but it was almost futile. Not that he couldn't have resisted. He had the strength. It was that he _didn't want to._ And that was still enough of a driving force inside him that he let it carry him around, let it be Finn's hands on his face, Finn's arms pulling him close, Finn's lips on his.

It was brief, but it touched the wanting tinder inside him and caused it to burst to a flame. He heard himself make one, clear growl before he jerked his head away. They stared at each other, and it was like looking into a mirror at himself twenty years ago.

He still had enough presence of mind to repeat, "Good night, Finn," and point a hand, only shaking a little, at the door.

Finn's own _didn't want to_ was evidence on his face, but he listened when Carl said, more firmly, "I mean it, young man."

He didn't look at Carl again, but he also didn't drop his gaze. _I'm not ashamed,_ his posture said. That was good… and bad. Good, because Finn's dignity had escaped intact. Bad, because… because…

_Because he might come back for more,_ he told himself as he sank down at the desk. He realized he still gripped the tool that Finn had chosen; he looked down to see it was a leather paddle. Carl opened the top drawer and tucked the paddle inside without looking.

Then he walked out into the hallway, cautiously watching to make sure Finn had actually gone. He locked the door once it was clear he was alone in the building.

Finally, with dread, he picked up the phone and called Tess.


	32. Chapter 32

_(Author's note: the scene at the end of the story is the same scene as chapter 8 in The Breath Before the Phrase, and ALSO the same as Chapter 6 in 1,000 Sarahs. So spoilers for those two chapters, if you have not read them. Also, there is no Adam in this chapter, but he is mentioned. I am so done writing the same scene three ways, but I knew it was important to tell it here from Finn's point of view. I just love Finn, if you haven't already guessed this, and I have adored writing the last few chapters. Thanks for reading, everyone. Enjoy. -amy)_

* * *

><p>Finn woke later than usual, no alarm or even dreams to nudge him awake. He just opened his eyes to stare at the slanted roof above his head. He was in his own room at home. It was winter vacation. It was winter vacation, and Puck was still gone.<p>

It was winter vacation, Puck was still gone _and he'd kissed Carl._

He groaned, putting a hand over his face, as though it would be big enough to hide behind if he tried. It hadn't been a dream, as much as he might like to pretend it had been. As much as it might mirror the dreams he'd had that week – although the things he'd done to Carl in his dream went far beyond a kiss. But this was _real._ He'd done it. He'd wanted it… and now Carl knew it.

He could take it one step further and say _Carl wanted it, too._ But he'd stopped Finn, he'd told him no, more than once. He'd sent him home.

_But he wanted it,_ the voice whispered inside him, that was delicious and terrible all at once. _He wanted you, even if he knew he couldn't do anything about it._

The rules here were somewhat nebulous, about what kind of interaction was allowed between Dr. Howell and his clients, but _that_ had been a pretty clear boundary from the start. The closest he could think was the relationship between a therapist and the people who sat on his couch. Finn laughed to himself: _pretty close, actually. Therapy._ So, yeah, if Dr. Howell – Carl – if he were the therapist, and it was _not okay_ for Finn, the client, to come on to him, he'd have to stop seeing him professionally.

_And start seeing him socially?_

But the more he followed _that _thought to its logical conclusion, the more absurd it seemed. For one thing, Carl was a grown man, old enough to be Finn's father. He even had a daughter, _Finn's age_. He couldn't be a _boyfriend. _What would his mother say? For another thing, he'd been set up as a mentor for Finn. He was, like, a teacher. He was pretty sure it wasn't okay for teachers and their students to be romantic together. For a third, Lima was a small town. It would be hard to hide a relationship like that. Really, it would be next to impossible for them to do anything together except… stay… home.

Finn groaned again, this time with his hand touching somewhere other than his face, as his imagination took off, a mile a minute, telling the story in spectacular detail about what he and Carl _could_ be doing in the privacy of Carl's house. He didn't even make it further than the tails of the suede flogger on his back before he was gasping and coming over his own stroking fist.

It was winter vacation, Puck was still gone, he'd kissed Carl and he was totally fucked.

* * *

><p>And the office was, as Carl had told him it would be, locked and dark. Finn leaned his back on the window, facing the street, watching the traffic accumulate in the early afternoon lunch rush. <em>Now I feel like a stupid, anxious kid with a crush. <em>That's probably all it was, anyway. Unfortunately that didn't rid him of the empty sensation inside when he thought about going an entire week without seeing him.

_Carl, he'd been trying to tell me – that whole conversation. He knew what was going on, and he'd tried to stop it. _The realization staggered him, and he closed his eyes, remembering what he'd said about Kurt. _I'm glad you could get what you needed from your partner, _Carl had said. _So many of my clients come to me because they don't have that. You do. Don't forget it._

"Finn?" he heard, and when he opened his eyes, Davis was there, carrying a cardboard box, watching him with a concerned expression. It was the first time Finn had ever seen him dressed casually, in a sweater and khakis. _He's actually better looking than Carl,_ he thought, with vague detachment. _But I couldn't care less what he looks like. It's not really about that at all._

"Hi," he said. "I was just… I was looking for…"

"We're on our way out of town," Davis said. He glanced up and down the street. "Come on. You shouldn't be seen hanging around here." He took out a ring of keys and stepped, not into the glass front leading to the office, but to a recessed door set off to the side. The door read _234 ½ N. Main St_.

"What is this place?" Finn asked, stepping through the door that Davis held open for him. It led to a flight of steep stairs. The paint on the walls was chipped and peeling, and the railing wiggly; after one alarming touch, he kept his hands to himself.

"It's Carl's apartment," came Davis' voice from the foot of the stairs.

"He lives – here?" Finn was perplexed, but Davis chuckled.

"No. It's just an extra space for clients. Sometimes he stays here overnight, but honestly, he'd be more likely to crash out on the couch in his office. Carl has a house outside of town." The door at the top of the stairs was unlocked, and Finn opened it onto a sunny, but unremarkable entryway. He peeked into the front room and found himself gazing through a row of windows, out over the urban landscape of the rooftops of downtown Lima. He thought, randomly, of Mary Poppins, with the chimney sweeps leaping from roof to roof.

"Finn." He looked up to see Davis's compassionate expression. "Are you doing all right? Puck – he hasn't come back, has he?"

"No," he said. "But he did text Kurt last night. He's in Santa Fe, with his… lovers."

The room was sparsely decorated, but Finn could see touches of Carl everywhere. There was a framed Pueblo doll, colors bright in the white room, presented in a recessed frame and hung low enough for average-height eyes to enjoy. In the hallway to the bedroom was a series of framed black and white photographs of buildings at some university. The furniture was worn leather, probably retired pieces from his office, or possibly from the upstairs rooms – he noticed attached O-rings and a length of chain tucked behind one chair. He shivered.

"Finn," he said again. Davis pulled out a chair at the small kitchen table and took a glass from the shelf, turned on the tap and poured a glass of water. He handed it to Finn. "What's going on?"

"Carl," he said, sitting in the offered chair and taking a sip of water. "He's been helping me get what I need. And to give Kurt what he needs. You know?"

"I know," Davis nodded. There was no teasing in his expression. He _did_ know. "It's helped, then?"

"Yes," Finn said. "Yes. A lot. Kurt and I… we're still trying to figure out how to be, just the two of us, without Puck, but… it's better. It's a lot better."

Davis nodded again, waiting. Eventually, he prompted, "But."

"There are things I… need," he said reluctantly. "Things I couldn't get from Kurt. I got… some of them… from Carl. Some of the other things, he said… he said he couldn't give me."

"Couldn't, or wouldn't?"

He hesitated, wondering how much he could say. "This is private, you and me?" he finally asked. Davis nodded, eyebrows raising.

"Finn?"

"I kissed him." He didn't look at Davis. "It didn't just happen. I did it on purpose. But he told me no and… sent me away."

He heard Davis' slow sigh. "Well. I guess I'm not too surprised."

Finn looked up, startled, and set his water glass down. "What? I mean – why? Was I that obvious?"

"No. _He_ was." He grinned at Finn's expression. "Seriously. Days ago."

The flush started on his chest and spread up his neck, like a heat wave, so that by the time it got to Finn's eyebrows, he was shaking. He couldn't suppress the smile that stretched his lips so wide it made his cheeks hurt, though it felt an awful lot like a grimace. "Oh," he said. "Oh. Um."

"You know, whether you meant to or not, you came to the right guy." Davis gestured with his own water glass and leaned back in his chair. "When Carl and I met in college, I was straight and married, and squeaky clean vanilla. I wouldn't have known what to do with kink if it had bit me on the balls."

Finn blinked, intrigued even in the midst of his drenching realization of _he likes me, he really likes me._ He had to shake his head at his own ridiculousness. "Um, wow. So what happened?"

"It's a funny story," Davis went on, his eyes twinkling at Finn. "My wife wasn't particularly interested in kink, but she had suspicions about me and my preference for men. She met Carl through the musical theater department, where she was studying. Guess what happened."

"Um… she hooked you guys up?" Finn guessed. He smiled at Davis' answering laugh.

"That would have been the easy route. No, she fell in love with him. I was still convinced I was straight, but I was a pushover for whatever Bebe wanted. And she wanted him, and he wanted her." He shrugged eloquently. "So we moved in together, the three of us. And we both got a swift introduction to the world of BDSM. Leather, discipline, the whole deal. Bebe decided she couldn't handle it – but not before she was already pregnant."

"Whoa," Finn said. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "What did you guys do?"

"Well, Bebe decided she couldn't have an abortion, so she went and spent the rest of the semester with her sister in New York until the baby was born. That left me, a closeted sub, living with my wife's hot Dominant bisexual boyfriend. You can probably do the math about what happened next."

Finn found himself laughing. "Holy shit."

Davis put his hands behind his head and smiled. "Tell me about it. I lost all my inhibitions in one amazing year. Even my grades didn't suffer because I had a strict disciplinarian helping me focus. It was pretty fantastic." His eyes went far away, remembering. "But we both missed Bebe, and as much as she didn't want to have a baby, Carl really _did._ He didn't want to give her up, and he didn't want to give _me_ up. It was hard for all of us. That, plus the kink, broke the three of us apart."

"What _did_ you do about the baby?" Finn was having trouble imagining a younger Carl with a daughter. It was dangerously, uncomfortably close to what was happening with Puck – only he knew Carl's daughter was Finn's own age, which was just a huge reminder of the age gap between the two of them. He didn't even know how old Carl was. Forty? More? He sighed.

"A gay couple we knew really wanted a baby. They adopted her. It worked out, more or less." Davis was still lost in his memories. "So then it was just me and Carl for a while. Bebe got her degree and went on to her career, and Carl finished dentistry school and I got my law degree. I got clear about what I really wanted out of life." He smiled at Finn. "Carl and I nearly killed each other a few times before we realized we really _shouldn't _live together. But we've never stopped being friends, and we're excellent business partners."

"You guys were… in love?" Finn probed the idea, like he was poking a bruise, and decided it didn't bother him.

"We were in _something,_ that's for sure. In lust, maybe. I mean, look at the guy." The smile he gave Finn was kind, but Finn blushed hot anyway.

"Uh. Yeah. Jesus." Finn buried his face in his hands. "I just – I'm having a hard time with this. I mean, there are _so_ many reasons why this is a bad idea. And _how_ can I be having these _feelings_ about somebody else in the middle of – all of this, with Puck and Kurt?"

Davis nodded soberly. "Love's not something you can turn off, Finn. It's inconvenient at the best of times. But you've got a good head on your shoulders. Spend a little time thinking about it. You'll figure it out. Carl and I, we're going to visit an old friend for Christmas. We'll be back in a week."

"A week," Finn said weakly. "That… sounds like a long time."

Davis chuckled. "Yeah, I can only imagine. Carl's not prone to drama, but he's definitely got a thing for you, so I suspect he'll be dealing with his own feelings. Hang in there, all right? And – I'll make sure he calls you. Does he have your phone number?"

Once Davis found a pencil and a scrap of paper, Finn recited his cell phone number. Davis tucked it in his pocket. "I need to head out," he said. "Our flight leaves for Iowa in three hours. Can I pass a message to him?"

Finn thought about it for a long minute, then he looked up. "Just – just tell him… I'm not sorry."

Davis' smile was thoughtful. "Mmmm. You may be young, Finn, but you're not much of a kid."

Finn went carefully down the steep staircase and out the door onto the snowy street. He paused outside the storefront. If he stood close to the window, he could see past the reflective surface into the dark office, at Angela's empty desk, the quiet reception chairs. He could imagine Puck standing there, talking to Angela, and Carl coming out of his office… and he missed them both. Finn shook his head at the juxtaposition. _What the hell do I do with this?_

_You'll figure it out,_ Davis had said, but he wasn't at all sure he would.

* * *

><p><em>Oh, no, not now, please, not now<br>__I'd just settled into the glass half empty, made myself at home  
><em>_And so why now? Oh, please, not now  
><em>_I just stopped believing in happy endings, harbors of my own  
><em>_But you had to come along, didn't you  
><em>_Tear down the doors, throw open windows  
><em>_Oh, if you knew just what a fool you have made me_

_So what do I do with this?  
><em>_This stray Italian greyhound, these inconvenient fireworks  
><em>_This ice-cream covered screaming hyperactive thoughts  
><em>_God, I just want to lay down, these colors make my eyes hurt  
><em>_This feeling calls for everything that I am not_

_- Vienna Teng, "Stray Italian Greyhound"_

* * *

><p>Finn found Timothy and Burt sitting at the dining room table of the Hummel house, going over paperwork. "So if he relinquishes parental rights, he doesn't have to pay child support anymore?" Timothy was saying. "I mean, not that he ever did anyway."<p>

"He did," Burt said. "He had to. It got taken out of his wages."

Timothy shook his head. "You're assuming he was actually working. Hey, Finn."

"Hey," Finn said. "Is this about Sarah?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Although it'll take a while. Hospitals and social services agencies apparently move at about the same speed."

Sounds of Lady Gaga drifted out of the closed door of the kitchen. "Sarah's got a cookie-making machine going in there," Burt said, running a hand over his head under his ballcap. "She and Kurt and Frances are making a million of them."

"It's a tradition my dad started," Timothy said. "If you can believe that. We used to watch all the music awards on TV – the Tonys, the Grammys, the AMAs, the VMAs – and eat chocolate chip cookies. And the grownups would drink copious amounts of alcohol and smoke pot, but I doubt Sarah realizes that. We've switched to milk."

Burt's mouth twisted. "The life you led. It's a wonder she's not more messed up."

"She's pretty messed up, Burt," Timothy said quietly. "She won't figure out how much until she's older. I needed some distance from that house before I figured it out, myself." His eyes were pained. "You're – you'll get her therapy, right?"

"I guess it would be the responsible thing to do," Burt said. "I don't have a lot of faith in headshrinking, myself. Kurt and I did okay after Elizabeth died without any doctors giving us drugs or making us talk about it."

"Well, it's up to you, of course," Timothy said. He pushed his pencil around on the table. "She won't remember any of what happened with my dad, but Puck – he might."

"He does," Finn said. They looked up at him. "He remembers, when he wakes up in the middle of the night. He has bad dreams most nights."

Timothy nodded. "I think he'll go, if you make him. Sarah's going to be harder to crack. She's pretty tough. Noah - for all his bravado, he's always been the sensitive one."

Burt raised an eyebrow at Timothy. "You know them pretty well considering you've been gone for five years."

"I've been watching Sarah grow up – we had lunch together about once a month." He tapped the form in front of them. "And my dad, every couple months, once I got over being pissed at him. He fell off the wagon last year, but recently got sober again. I'm surprised he didn't come to the funeral, actually."

"Uh," said Burt.

"He did," Finn said, and Timothy gave him a puzzled look. "Me and Kurt, we told him to leave. Kurt… he punched him."

"_What?"_ Burt was flabbergasted.

"Right in the jaw," Finn said, and smiled. "It was… Timothy, don't be mad at me, but it was awesome."

"Trust me, I've had that urge more than a hundred times myself. I only wish I'd been there to see it. Well. I guess he won't be coming up to Lima again any time soon." Timothy sat back, thinking. "Wait. Does that mean he knows about the three of you? 'Cause that might be a problem, if you want him to give up parental rights. For all his freewheeling musician's ways, he's pretty homophobic."

"Kurt _punched_ him?" Burt murmured.

"It's too late now," Finn said. "Anyway, he may decide to stay where he is, after all. Did Kurt tell you about the text?"

"Yeah." Timothy sighed. "Noah. What a mess. I can't believe him, going off with a new guy, in the middle of all of this."

Finn willed himself not to blush, but he bent to pretend to tie his shoe just in case. "He's always been one to follow his d… uh, his libido."

Burt snorted. "But these folks in Santa Fe? How did he meet them? Who are they?"

Without mentioning the words "Top" or "sir," Finn explained what he knew about Alex, Nicole and Daphne. "They're good to him," he concluded. "They're not taking advantage of him or anything. Puck learned a lot from – Alex."

"I bet," Timothy said, raising an eyebrow.

Finn tried again. "I mean, Puck learned about himself, and about – guys and stuff." He shook his head. "I'm not helping, am I?"

"Nope," said Timothy.

Burt gathered up the papers slowly and stacked them. "Finn, it's hard enough to consider my own son doing some of the things the three of you have done, and you're all the _same age._ This Alex… am I to understand he's a grown man? And his… girlfriends? Partners?" He shook his head. "I'm pretty open-minded, but… it's a lot to accept."

"I know what you mean," Finn said. "But I'm sure they'll give him a place to stay as long as he needs. It's better than him being on the street." A vision of Toby at fourteen suddenly crossed his mind, homeless, doing _things_ to stay alive. He shuddered. "Sarah said – he's safe, he's sober and he's with people who care about him. I guess I can live with that for now."

"Mmmm," said Burt, still looking suspicious, but he gathered the papers and went through the kitchen to his office without any further comments.

"Finn," said Timothy. His brown eyes were keen. "I haven't asked a lot of questions about what the three of you… how you are together. But I've been part of the gay community long enough to have some guesses."

"We're not _any_ way right now, Timothy," he said, looking away. "I don't even know what – what Puck wants. Or what I can live with."

"Well, if he does come back – I know he's always depended on you. You've been his best friend for a long time. I just don't want to see him get hurt."

"Me, either," Finn agreed. "But unfortunately _I'm_ the one who's done most of the hurting, these past few weeks. It might be better if he doesn't come back at all."

"Is that what you want?" Timothy asked.

"No!" Finn raised both hands, warding him away, frustrated. "No. I miss him like – I can't even tell you. I've been a total mess about it. But I – it's complicated. More than you know."

Timothy put an arm around Finn's shoulder. They were nearly the same height. "Well. Tonight, at least, it'll be simple. We'll eat cookies, we'll drink – milk, and we'll watch musicians make fools of themselves on television. Deal?"

"Deal," Finn said, smiling at last.

Finn went into the kitchen to find Kurt, Sarah and the pretty blonde girl who'd gone with Rachel and Sarah to Hanukkah services. They were making towers with their cookies. The kitchen smelled incredible, and Finn realized with sudden hunger that he'd missed lunch. "Which ones can I eat?" he asked immediately.

"That huge box on the counter," Sarah said, pointing. "The one marked _Finn._ You get all those."

He snagged the box and peered inside, taking a big sniff. "Okay," he said to Kurt. "We're definitely keeping her."

"At least until Noah gets back?" Sarah said, and that got her a small smile from Kurt. Finn squeezed his long legs under the crowded kitchen table beside the girl and put a whole cookie in his mouth.

"Longer than that," he said, through the mouthful. "At least until you're old and get sick of us." He swallowed and turned to the girl, who looked startled to find him sitting there. "Hi - you must be Frances. I'm Finn. I see you got your not-a-rock. Did you figure it out?"

Frances touched the piece of amber at her throat. "I had to ask the geology teacher for help," she admitted, gazing at him with wide eyes.

"My mom posed that question to me a few years ago," he said, eating another cookie. "It took me weeks. Of course, I don't have that patience thing. Or the curiosity thing. I just wanted to know the answer."

"Frances has curiosity, but not patience," Sarah said, which made Frances turn red. "Finn, don't eat too many cookies. You'll spoil your dinner."

"Okay, Mom," he said, grinning at her. "Hey, what's the Yiddish word for Mother dear, to match Tatenui?"

"Mameleh, and if you call me that, I'll break your kneecaps, Finn Hudson," she said severely. Finn found himself laughing, and thought, _no matter what happens, this is exactly the family I want. _

* * *

><p>Finn's mom came over later, and they had an amazing pork dinner, courtesy Sarah, after which they ate a ton of cookies while Timothy and Kurt slaughtered them at Monopoly. Sarah instructed them in how to make ice cream cookie sandwiches and wrap them in plastic wrap to be frozen. It was just the kind of distraction Finn needed to keep his mind off… things. And people. But he kept his cell phone close, just in case.<p>

Finn was starting to think it _would_ be an ordinary, quiet evening when Kurt's cell phone rang. It was _Sweet Caroline. _Everyone fell silent while Kurt struggled to his feet and got his phone out of his pocket. He put it to his cheek and stuttered, "N-Noah?"

Finn tried not to make it about him, that he'd called Kurt. _Of course he wouldn't call you. You're the one who drove him out of town. _ He just sat still, waiting, listening, while everyone else reacted.

"I can't believe…" Kurt closed his eyes and clutched the back of Finn's chair for support. "Are you okay? Tell me you're okay." He nodded for everyone to see, and even though it had only been yesterday that Puck had spoken with Kurt, it was a relief to hear the confirmation. "Your mother... I'm so, so sorry."

Finn's mother leaned in and whispered, "Do you want us to go?"

"No," replied Finn, equally quietly. "It's about all of us. Kurt'll take the phone into the hall if he wants privacy."

"That's not true," said Kurt. Finn wished he could hear the other side of the conversation. "No matter what was going on between you, she's still your mother. I know what that's like to lose. I miss you so much. Please, can't you come home?"

Finn watched Kurt's eyes, and saw them soften and clear, and he felt such relief, it made him dizzy. _He's really coming home. _ "Thank you," Kurt said. "It's been a hell of a week. Talk to me. I just want to hear your voice. Please…"

While they spoke, Burt picked up the Monopoly game, and Frances carried the ice cream sandwiches into the kitchen. "Yes – Toby sent us a text of you in Denver," said Kurt. "That was… yes. Where did you go after that?"

Finn found himself moving with Kurt, staying close to him, and he was relieved that Kurt didn't tell him to buzz off. Timothy was getting his coat on, speaking quietly to Burt, but Finn didn't care much about anything except the phone in Kurt's hand right now.

"I haven't been listening to much else, Noah. That song… it's beautiful. You and Mercedes, the two of you – it just kills me." Kurt wiped his eyes. "Only in the best way. Yes, I love it, so much. Go on."

Kurt reached up and took Finn's hand, holding it tight, and sighed. "The four of you, that's part of your history. I don't think… Noah, I've never asked you not to see them. I didn't figure it was my place. I'm not upset you're there. They understand, and they know you, and I think… I think they're good for you. I don't feel bad about you spending time with Alex, or Daphne or Nicole."

Even after the events of last night, even after his conversation with Davis, it wasn't easy to hear Alex's name. Finn made an effort to relax, taking a deep breath, to stay open to whatever happened. He needed to accept Puck where he was. At the same time, Kurt got more tense, as he spoke. "I know, sweetheart. Did you – did you find it somewhere else?" He leaned his head sideways against Finn's stomach. "Okay." When he looked up at Finn, he could see the tears beginning to slide down his cheeks. "He's a Top."

_God – another one?_ Finn jerked back, folding in on himself. Kurt's own gaze on Finn hardened. "Just tell me, Noah. Don't hold back. Tell me everything. I want to hear it."

Sarah and Frances were talking with Burt, but it was all Finn could do just to be present with this conversation. He wanted – he wanted someone to help him deal with it. He wanted someone who was currently in Iowa. _But you've got Kurt, right here,_ he reminded himself, and he took his hand.

"You had sex?" Kurt asked, but he blinked away tears at the answer. Finn pressed his lips together and bowed his head. _More than sex? What else could have happened? _"Just like that. I guess I get that. Go on." Kurt wiped his face, listening. "I'm glad, sweetheart. What else?"

Then he sat forward, looking up at Finn, startled. "Really? How?" As Finn watched, his face flushed red, his lips parted in shock. "Noah… tell me… tell me you don't mean _Adam Lambert."_

"No way," Sarah breathed.

"Who's he?" Frances asked in an undertone.

"He's the American Idol guy," Finn said. He thought he might pass out if he moved even one inch from where he stood, and he clutched the chair and Kurt's hand tight. "He won second place last year."

"_Noah,"_ Kurt said, rising from his chair, but then Burt was there, saying, "Kurt, come on, sit down."

Finn shifted his death grip to the chair while Kurt slowly took his seat again. Kurt was breathing hard, and his voice was about half an octave higher than usual. "Sweetheart… _Adam Lambert?"_ He shook his head, choking at what Puck said. "How did you even… to his _hotel room?_ He sang to you in the _coffee shop?_ And you… I didn't know he _did_ that... stuff... like we do. And he has a boyfriend."

_Since when does that matter, anymore? _Finn couldn't help thinking, but he didn't say it aloud.

"No, he and Drake broke up last month," Sarah insisted. "I read it in OUT Magazine."

"Really? Because they seemed so snuggly in those photos from… God. I am _not_ gossiping about _Adam Lambert_ with you." He leaned forward, his head in one hand. "Real. This… this is real, Noah?"

"God." Kurt smothered a surprised laugh, and in a suddenly normal, amused voice, said, "I really miss you." Then he sat straight up. "Guilty?" Now he sounded shocked. "Noah – you don't have anything to be guilty about! He's the one… god, you have no idea. He's been a wreck, he barely left his room for four days."

"That's not exactly true," Finn muttered. "I came out to use the bathroom eventually. And I _wanted_ to eat."

"Well, you didn't," Kurt insisted, leaning his head on Finn. "No. But, sweetheart, we're all here. My dad and Carole and Sarah. Timothy's been here, on and off, too. We're all waiting for you to come home. I know what you did what you felt like you had to do. And – I'm glad that… _Adam_… could help you. Mostly I'm relieved to hear you still want to come home."

Finn might have felt embarrassed by Kurt's devotion if he hadn't been feeling exactly the same thing, himself. Kurt looked so hopeful. "But you still want… me. Even though you have… him? Seriously, Noah, how can I compete with _Adam Lambert?"_

Finn stumbled a few steps away from Kurt, feeling the shock of the familiar name in this odd context. He thought of what he'd seen him do on American Idol last year – how he might not have even considered joining Glee club without what he'd seen on that show. He thought, _he's Puck's new lover. _"Jesus," he said, wrapping his own arms around himself, trying to hold himself up.

"Who is this guy, anyway?" Mr. Hummel muttered, taking Finn's place next to Kurt. "He's on television?"

Then Kurt was sobbing, real sobs, loud and uncontrolled, and Mr. Hummel's arms were around him, holding him tight. Kurt wasn't letting go of the phone, though, not for anything.

Finn felt a touch at his waist, and he looked down to see his mom, giving him support. "Honey," she whispered. "Be strong. For Kurt."

"I'm trying," he whispered back.

"I… I don't get it," Kurt choked out, wiping his eyes and blowing his nose. "Yes. I still don't understand _that_, either. And Adam… is he okay, with you having… me?" Then Kurt squealed, like someone had mentioned Patti LuPone.

"Are you okay?" Sarah asked, and he nodded frantically.

"I'm not going to hyperventilate," he chanted. "Okay. This is… surreal doesn't begin to cover it. Just… if you come back ho… here, I think we can figure out the rest. Just come back."

Sarah tugged on his sleeve. "My turn," she hissed.

Kurt leaned on Burt like he was too weak to walk on his own. "That would be… yes, I would. And I think, judging by her wild gesticulations, Sarah would like to talk to you."

Reluctantly, Kurt let the phone out of his hand, watching it go, and touched his dad's hands, resting on his shoulders. He looked so fragile. Sarah beckoned Frances closer, and they put their heads together with the phone between them.

"You're the biggest pain in the ass brother ever," she complained. "Seriously. I think you broke Finn. He looks terrible. Nobody can do anything around here except whine about you. And what's this about _Adam Lambert?"_ She snorted at his answer. "You get all the boys. I'll be lucky if anyone even invites me to the winter dance."

Finn realized that Kurt was going to be Sarah's brother, for real. Which kind of made _him_ her brother, too. _Maybe I should chaperone._ He remembered being an eleven-year-old boy, and he didn't want to think about Sarah in the hands of a boy like that.

"Whatever, Noah," she said derisively. "Do I need to kick _your_ ass for hurting Kurt? You didn't do anything you shouldn't do, did you?" Sarah made an _oh, well_ gesture. "I guess love is like that. Tatenui looks like he's going to punch something, though. You're in for it." She grinned. "Mr. Hummel. You've got your own catching up to do. A whole fucking week with no phone calls? Dude."

"Language, Sarah," Mr. Hummel said, his face tired.

"Sorry," she said to him. Then into the phone: "I can't say the f-word anymore."

"Good luck with that," Carole whispered. Finn had to smile at the idea of anybody taming Puck's vocabulary – though he'd cleaned up his act in front of Burt, that was for sure.

"Uh, _yeah,_" Sarah said with great scorn. "Lady Gaga's performing."

Mr. Hummel reached over and tapped the table. "I think your turn is up, kiddo."

"You want to talk to Tatenui?" Sarah said, and passed the phone to Mr. Hummel.

"Puck," he said, in a warning tone. Finn held his breath. "You've got a lot to answer for. How many times do you think we're going to have to have this conversation?"

It was amazing how _comforting_ Burt's stern tone sounded. He looked at Sarah, who was grinning. She understood.

"I'm not talking about that," Burt said impatiently, stalking back and forth between the kitchen counter and the table. "Puck, I don't care how many times you mess up. That's what humans do. It's just part of life. I'm talking about this business with _more people._ Do you think I have endless room in this damn house? Is this becoming the Hummel Home for Angsty Lovestruck Boys?"

Kurt giggled first, but Sarah nearly snorted her milk all over the coffee table. Finn shook his head and smiled, watching his mother stifle her own laughter behind both hands. Burt's expression never wavered, and he sighed. "Puck," he said, more gently. "Nobody is mad at you." He turned a glare on Finn. "Nobody."

"Okay, okay," Finn said, and Carole elbowed him, none too gently.

Burt continued into the phone. "I know that's what Finn said, but that's not how things are now. We all miss you and want you to come home. That's step one. Step two is up to all of us to decide. Yes, _all_ of us. Now who the heck is this Adam character? Because I think Kurt's about to burst into song or something, he looks so excited."

"Dad," Kurt protested, his cheeks red. "He's a _rock star._ We're going to see him on _television_ in about – fifteen minutes."

"No kidding," Burt said, and he sounded grudgingly impressed. "Boy, you get around, don't you?" Now he sounded like he was teasing. "Well, I guess you can tell me all about it when you get home, huh? You going to make it in time for Christmas? I know you don't celebrate that, but…" He listened. "Okay. You've got time to think about it. We've got a lot to talk about. Drive safe, okay? No stupid stunts. You pull over and sleep when you get tired."

"There he is," said Kurt, suddenly, pointing at the screen, "that's _him._ That's Adam."

"Who?" Frances asked, but he was already gone.

His mom reached a hand up, waiting silently for the phone. "We'll see you soon," said Mr. Hummel. "Here's Carole."

She took the phone and put it to her ear while Finn watched her warily. "Puck, are you okay?" She listened. "Finn told me all of it. Or – I think all of it." She sounded almost amused. "He's giving me the evil eye, so I'm guessing there's parts I'll never know. That's the way it goes, when you're the parent."

_You have no idea, Mom,_ he thought. He wondered what it would be like if she knew all the truth about what they'd been doing. She probably wouldn't let him leave the house. He winced, thinking of Carl.

"I guess you will," she said. "When's the baby due?" She had a way of helping conversation be easy, even when things were complicated. "I remember that feeling when I was pregnant. There's a lot of questions I have, but I can wait until you get back to talk about it. We all want to help, Puck."

She turned sad eyes on him. "He's hurting," she said. Finn winced, trying to turn away, but her gaze held him steadily. "I don't think it's going to be easy, but – Puck, the two of you have been friends for too long for this to be the end of everything. I'm sure you can work through it."

_You think so, Mom?_ he thought, as he struggled for control. _Everybody seems to think I can do this. What if they're all wrong?_

"There," Sarah said, nudging Frances, and they looked at the screen to see Adam Lambert in the flesh. He was made up fancy in a grey suit, his hair spiked up high. The shorter man he was talking to had even more makeup on than him. Finn was fascinated despite himself. Adam had always struck him as confident, a real performer, and yet so _real._ _Was he really a Top? Like Alex? Like… like me? _

Then his mom was holding out the phone, waiting for him to take it. "No," he said, drawing back.

"Just say hello," she said. Into the phone, she said, "Here's Finn," and she pressed it to his cheek.

"What? No, I – I _can't."_ He felt frantic, like if he heard Puck's voice, that this would all somehow be _real,_ too: Adam, Carl – everything.

"Yes, you can," she said firmly, and Finn took the phone, holding it away from his face. Finally, slowly, he put it to his ear. "Hi," he said, and then waited, biting his lip. There was no sound on the other side for a moment.

Then he heard a girl's voice say, "What is it?" and there was a deep breath, and Puck's voice, _Puck's voice,_ said, "Finn." His own breath caught.

"Tell him you want him to come home," his mom whispered, with a flick of her wrist.

Finn couldn't think. He could barely repeat the words. "My mom wants me to tell you that I – that you should come home."

"That's not what I said," she hissed, but Finn ignored her, listening.

"That's not my home," Puck said. Finn could tell, even from those few words, that he really _was_ better. Whatever Adam had done for him, it had worked, and it actually made Finn feel good to hear it. "That's why I left."

"Tell him you love him," urged his mom.

"I'm not going to say that," Finn said, feeling the panic rise up again.

"You don't have to say anything," Puck snapped. "Don't bother. You said plenty already."

Finn felt stung. He scrambled for a retort, and thought of Fight Club. He heard himself say, "Yeah, and why should I believe a word you say? Seems like you can lie to me whenever you feel like it."

"Finn," Kurt protested, while his mom said, "That's _enough,_ young man."

"I'm done with that," Puck said, with finality. "Adam –"

"Don't," Finn choked, "_don't_ tell me about him. I can't hear it – I can't." The panic drove him to shove the phone at Kurt, and then he was running, down the stairs into the basement, to the safety of the green couch. His breath was stuck in his throat, like it had turned to glue. For a moment he wasn't sure he could stay, that maybe _he_ needed to run out through the garage door and get in his mom's car and drive until he was somewhere other than here. It had its appeal. But he'd never been one to run before. He was the one who stayed, when things got hard. He'd promised Puck he wouldn't leave. _But I did,_ he thought miserably.

"Finn," his mom said, and he sank to the couch, shaking, as she put her arms around him. She rocked him, caring for him, just like Carl had. "He's coming back."

"He's got _him,_ now," he said, his voice sounding bitter even to himself.

"Don't be like that," she sighed. "This is _Puck,_ remember? He grew up with you – he's practically my son, too. How may girlfriends has he had since you've known him? More than I could count. And half of them were _yours._"

"This is different," he insisted. "You don't know, Mom."

"Because he's an adult?" she said. "Or because he's… he's _famous?"_

"Because I'm in love with somebody else, too," he whispered. She stilled her motion and held him, letting the words settle in.

"Oh, Finn," she said, sounding so regretful he wished he could take it back. Saying it aloud for the first time, the thing he'd barely let himself think, here, in this absence of Carl, felt terrifying. "Honey."

"I'm sorry, Mom," he said, struggling for control. "It's… new. Really new. And I'm freaking out about it. I haven't even told Kurt." He let out a shaky laugh. "I haven't even told _him."_

"Another boy?" she said softly, petting his hair.

"A… a man." She sat back and regarded him. "Not a rock star," he added.

She laughed. "Well, that's something, at least."

"No, mom, he's a dentist," he said, and put a hand to his mouth, holding back the hysteria. She took his other hand and squeezed it. "I don't know. It might be a mistake."

"You can tell me as much as you want, Finn," she said. "We've never had secrets between us. But don't feel obligated. I know it feels complicated."

"It is." He wiped his nose. "There's stuff I don't think I can tell you."

She nodded. "You're my son, Finn, but you're almost grown. I don't think I'll have a say much longer about how you live your life… but I want you to know I'll always listen, if you need to tell me about… the _complicated." _ She kissed his wet cheek. "You might be surprised about what I'll tolerate."

He knew it was true, though he didn't know details. His mom had been the rebel in her family, when she was his age. They almost never saw her eight siblings or Finn's grandparents. "Thanks," he said. "I believe you, but it's still scary to share… this stuff with you."

She glanced at the stairs. "I think you have some concerned visitors," she murmured. "You ready for them to come down?"

Finn looked up to see Sarah and Frances peering at them from the top of the step. "Yeah," he said, cleaning up his face as best as he could.

"All right, girls," his mom called. They crept downstairs, tiptoeing to the couch. Sarah nestled right up next to him, and he appreciated her closeness. _I like having a sister,_ he thought, feeling her warmth.

"I don't know what I meant to say," Frances said, settling on the short end of the couch. She looked a little tentative, but her face was open and honest. Finn liked her already.

"Thanks, anyway," Finn said. "I'm sorry about this, Frances. I'm not in the habit of making a scene in front of guests."

"We wanted to know if there was anything that was confusing for you, if you had any questions," said Carole. "I know Sarah's told you a little about the boys' situation, and that it's private." He eyebrows went up, and Frances nodded quickly. "Good. I figured we could trust you to keep this to yourself. They're having enough trouble without adding anything else."

Finn felt a stab of guilt. _I just did,_ he thought. _I just added something else. _

"I won't say anything," Frances said. "My... my parents wouldn't get it. I'm not sure I do, either. But..." She looked at Finn, her blue eyes round. "I'm sorry, that you're so sad."

Finn smiled at her, and she turned red. "That's really nice of you."

"Frances said she understood how you were feeling," Sarah said, patting his chest.

"Sarah," Frances hissed, feeling her blush deepen.

Sarah waved it away. "No, really, this is important. She thought _you _thought had done something wrong, and that you weren't good enough. _Is _that really how you're feeling?"

Finn felt a little trapped under her regard. He thought of something Kurt had said once: _I bet Sarah will be good at what you do. Someday._ He could sense some of the truth in that, in the way she looked at him, like he'd better be honest, or else. "Um. Something like that."

"Well, that _sucks,"_ Sarah said. She hit him with the flat of her hand, and he felt it like a real blow, even though it was gentle. "Since when is my _brother_ allowed to make mistakes, but you're not?"

"It's complicated, Sarah," he said, but she shook her head vigorously.

"No, not this part. This part is easy. You heard what Tatenui said. It doesn't matter how many times you mess up, because we're going to love you anyway. Noah, too."

He wished he could be grateful for that, but all he felt was fear – about Puck, about Carl, about Adam, about Sarah – how did grown-ups deal with all this uncertainty? "I - I don't really want to be _done,_ Sarah. But I don't know if I can go on after what happened, either. There's too much stuff between us."

They were all silent for a moment.

"Maybe... if you had something," Frances said. "To help you heal. Like resin." When they looked at her, she struggled to explain. "I only met him the one time, but could hear, on the phone, how much _better_ Puck was. How much he'd healed. Like - the resin had helped."

"You mean Adam is his resin?" Sarah asked. Finn didn't know what she meant by resin, but he felt a surge of hope. If Frances, a stranger, could see that Puck had been helped by Adam's presence in his life – could that mean _he_ might be able to have that, too? Could Carl help him as much?

"I've got something like that," he said.

"Finn," Carole said, heavily, but he shook his head.

"Mom, you've trusted me and Puck and Kurt so far. You said we have to make our own mistakes. This one - I can't really explain it, but it's like... it's not like anything else." He swallowed. "Maybe I need it. Maybe it's _not_ a mistake."

"What are you talking about?" Sarah said, but Carole shook her head.

"Later. Let's take this one step at a time, all right?" She reached out and pulled Finn into another hug. Sarah leaned with them, her arm still around him, and they sat there, supporting each other, for a long moment. _If I can't have what I want,_ he thought, _at least I can have this._

On the way back to the living room, Finn found the box of cookies labeled _Finn_ and brought it with him to the chair. He saw Kurt, sitting with the phone pressed to his ear, just listening, being present with Puck, and Finn was nearly knocked over with the surge of love he felt for both of them. _For both of them. Together._ He gently took the phone from Kurt's startled hand, being careful not to hang up, and set it on the table. Then he held Kurt's face in his hands and kissed him.

"Baby," he whispered. "I love you."

"I – I love you, Finn," Kurt said, surprised.

If he could have hugged the cell phone, he would have, but as it was, he just set the phone back into Kurt's hands. _Kurt will take care of him, until I can figure things out. _It felt exactly right, to be sitting here with him on the couch with his family. _We're all here,_ he thought, stretching out his legs. _If you count the phone._

"Are you sure he's going to be on?" said Sarah.

"The announcer said at the end," Kurt said, snuggling into Finn's arm. "It's only halfway done."

Sarah and Kurt approved of Lady Gaga's performance of Bad Romance, but Sarah thought the part where she lit her piano on fire was a little silly. "I guess when you're avant garde, there'll be times when it doesn't work out," she said airily. "I don't think any less of her."

It didn't even bother him when Kurt said into the phone, "Have you been having any more of those dreams – about… your daughter?" He listened, then smiled. "I wonder if she'll really sound like that, someday. By the time we graduate from high school, she'll be talking." There was a pause, and he wrinkled his brow. "What do you…" Kurt suddenly was outraged. "Noah… you _can't _drop out of school."

"No way," Finn said, shocked.

"Deal with this when he gets back," Burt said, from the kitchen. "Don't try to solve this tonight. He's exhausted."

Finn realized his box of cookies was almost empty by the time Taylor Swift won for Artist of the year, but the appearance of the words ADAM LAMBERT in enormous green neon letters along the back of the stage kept him from returning to the kitchen for more.

"Here we go," Carole said, glancing at Finn. "You okay?"

"Yeah, mom, I'm okay," said Finn, and he actually meant it. Sarah scooted forward, onto the edge of her seat, clutching Frances' hand.

http:/ www. youtube. com/watch?v=vywIkXclato - _definitely watch this one if you haven't seen Adam's performance at the AMAs!_

The spotlight silhouetted a figure holding a microphone, and the stage lights came up to illuminate Adam's figure, standing confidently, but even Finn could tell his voice was tense.

"What _is _that thing on his shoulder?" Kurt wondered. "It looks like a robotic hedgehog."

The dancers surrounded him a few at a time as Adam's presence carried the day. He didn't sound very good, but that could have been due to problems with the sound - Finn could hear the recording in the background. _Sloppy sound work,_ he thought, shaking his head. Instead, he focused on Adam's attitude. And the lyrics were more than a little suggestive.

"Is he _walking_ that guy across the stage on a _leash?"_ demanded Sarah, and Frances gasped as Adam pulled the dancer's face into his crotch.

"Oh my god," Kurt said mildly. Into the phone, he said, "No, he's in the other room. Oooh." Kurt winced. "That note was a little sharp… _and_ that one. Aaaand that one was flat."

"This is kind of embarrassing," Sarah said to Frances.

"I - I've never seen outfits like that before," Frances stammered.

"Oh - not that," Sarah said, dismissively. "It's his _singing._ He's _terrible._ Really, he was much better on American Idol."

"What makes you – oh." Kurt make a little throaty noise as Adam cupped his bass player's head and gave him a deep, full-tongue kiss. "Well."

"It might be bedtime for you girls," Carole said pointedly.

Sarah waved her away. "Are you kidding? This is my brother's new _boyfriend._ I can't miss this - talk about _ammunition."_ She leaned forward and gazed at the screen.

When it was over, they turned off the television and gave each other uneasy looks. "Uh," Carole said.

"I thought he was pretty good, actually," Finn said, and they all stared at him. "Really," he protested. "I mean, it was over the top, but... Puck's kind of like that himself, right?"

"Oh… sweetheart," Kurt said into the phone, and he gave a heavy sigh. Finn felt a twinge of anxiety, but he made himself sit back and let Kurt handle it.

"Is he okay?" Sarah asked.

"No... Noah's missing him. I can tell. And Adam Lambert is typically an excellent performer. Something was definitely off tonight." Kurt sighed again, unhappily. "I bet he's missing you, too."

Finn made comforting circles on Kurt's back, feeling calm. _He's coming home. _It was a place to start.

"I want _you_," Kurt said to the phone. "It doesn't matter what I deserve. Thank you for calling. Get some sleep, and call me tomorrow before you head out." He disconnected the call and tossed the phone on the table, running both hands over his face. "God. What kind of insanity is this?"

Puck had left Lima over a week ago, hurting and lost and looking for himself. And now, it seemed he'd found it. And who'd helped him?

"Adam Lambert," Finn said to himself. _A Top. Like... like Kurt. Now he'll have two. And Alex, that's three. He'll be all right. _Because even if he couldn't be that for him, he knew he would get what he needed. It was a relief, and he hadn't even known he was worried about Puck in that way.

He felt a shock as he realized, _Maybe it took finding my own Top for me to see that he needed his. _

Finn helped clean up the kitchen, but he waited until Frances and Sarah had gone downstairs to put a hand on Kurt and pull him aside, towing him into Burt's office. "Are you all right?" he said, quietly, in the darkness.

"Am I _all right?_" Kurt snapped. "Finn, Noah is in love with _Adam Lambert._ And nothing's changed, with his mother, and Sarah, and coming out at _school,_ it's just going to get worse for him, and things with you -"

"Are _you,"_ he murmured, running the back of his hand down Kurt's cheek, "all right?"

Kurt paused, tense and wide-eyed. "What do you -"

Finn kissed him, hard, and pressed him up against the wall, feeling Kurt exclaim and resist and, finally, respond. His body relaxed, a little at a time, but Finn didn't stop until Kurt was making breathy noises and touching him through his jeans. Then he broke away and tried again.

"Are... you... okay?" He cupped Kurt's face in one hand, holding him firm, and put his other hand on Kurt's back. Kurt gasped, writhing in his hands, and let out a whine.

"Mmmm," Finn said, smiling. "I thought so. Downstairs, _now."_

"Yes... sir," Kurt breathed, and went.

* * *

><p>"He did sound better," Finn said, stretched out on his side. Kurt's head was at the bottom of the bed, flat on his stomach, his foot in Finn's hands. He was clearly trying hard not to make too much noise, so as not to disturb Sarah and her guest on the other side of the bathroom. Every now and then he buried his face in his pillow and allowed himself a muffled moan.<p>

"Yes," he slurred. "He really did."

Finn smiled. "I bet he felt something like this, with Adam. If it's as good as it sounded."

"I hope so, Finn. If he gets hurt, I'm... well, I can't really punch Adam Lambert out, can I?"

"I suspect his security would have something to say about that," Finn said. "But we could try."

Another groan escaped Kurt's lips as Finn hit a sensitive spot. "He said... he said Adam wanted to meet me. Us. _God._ Is it totally wrong to get all fangirly about your boyfriend's lover?"

"Not if he's Adam Lambert." Finn sat up. "I think we will definitely have to have him over for dinner and grill him about his intentions."

Kurt's sleepy smile was genuine. Finn felt a sense of warm satisfaction at the sight. _I took care of him. _

"Kurt," he said. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Mmmm," said Kurt.

He hesitated. "It's kind of a big deal. I need you to listen, or we can do it tomorrow, if you're too sleepy."

"_Another_ big deal?" Kurt sighed, considered, then hauled himself upright, facing Finn. "All right. If I can deal with Noah falling in love with another man, I think I can handle whatever you're going to tell me."

Finn laughed nervously. "Well, funny thing, that."

The silence was deafening.

"Finn," Kurt said, very quietly.

"It wasn't - it wasn't something I planned," he said, quickly, putting his hands on the edge of the duvet. "I just - I didn't even _notice_ until things got complicated, and I realized I was leaning on him more and more, and he was - I mean, he gave me things I didn't even _know_ I needed -"

He watched Kurt's face settle into recognition. "Dr. Howell," he said.

"... Yeah," he said. He swallowed. "But he told me - last night, he said we couldn't - I, uh, I tried to - but he said that - that I had to go. So I went back this morning and he was _gone,_ and Davis said - um, he said that Carl... that he felt..."

"Finn," Kurt said, shaking his head, one hand out. "Just... stop. It's like watching a train wreck."

Finn closed his mouth. He remembered the first time he thought of Kurt's eyes as a _gaze,_ and the joke he'd made about it. _Kurt's piercing me with his gays._ But it didn't feel much like a joke, now.

"I'm sorry," he said in a small voice. "I don't know what to do about it."

Kurt's sigh was so soft, he almost couldn't hear it. "Tell me how you feel about him."

"I..." It was hard enough to talk around it, to talk _about_ it, to even _think_ it. But he'd said it to his mother. He could say it again. Here, to Kurt. "I'm in love with him," he said. It felt like the truth.

Kurt nodded. "And how does he feel about you?"

"I don't know," Finn said, but Kurt wagged a finger at him.

"No, you _said_, Davis told you. You have to say it, now."

"He's in love with me, too," Finn whispered. He closed his eyes, and struggled to stop the smile that bloomed on his face.

"Yeah," Kurt said. "I thought so." He got under the duvet, slid against the spoon made by Finn's body, reached over and put his arm over him, and pulled the cover up over their shoulders.

"Kurt," he said.

"It's okay, Finn," Kurt said, calmly. "We're okay. Now we're going to go to sleep. You're going to hold me while I cry. And tomorrow, we'll figure out what to do about it."

"Okay," said Finn, and held on, as tight as he dared, as Kurt began to shake.

* * *

><p>Kurt woke him later, with difficulty. "Finn," he said. "Wake up. Your phone's ringing."<p>

"Mmmm," he said, groggy upon waking even under the best of circumstances, and the dream had been - compelling was a tame word. "Okay." He took the phone from Kurt and saw _IA Caller_ on the screen, and sat up in a hurry, pressing the Answer Call button.

"Hello?" he said, not caring how eager he sounded, because it was - this was -

"Finn," said Carl's voice.

"Sir," he said, and heard the silence on the other end of the line. Kurt kissed his cheek, then got out of bed and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

"I don't think that's appropriate, Finn," Carl said, in a tense voice.

"I'm sorry... but I'm not sure how to be anything except honest with you," he said. "I just spent the evening listening to Kurt talking to Puck about his new Top, Adam Lambert, and _yes,_ it's _that_ Adam Lambert, and then I told my mother about you. And Kurt." He took a breath. "I told them I'm in love with you."

"Finn," Carl said. He wasn't shocked, or stern, or upset in any way. As far as Finn could tell, he was _aching._ It almost physically hurt to hear it.

"I know it's impossible," he said. "I know it's a bad idea in _so_ many ways. But that doesn't stop how I'm feeling, and what I - what I _need_ - from you. From you, sir, so don't tell me I could get it from someone else."

"No." He heard his sigh. "I won't tell you that."

"Are you going to tell me no, sir?" he said. "Because I think I need to hear it now, if it's going to be no."

There was a long pause.

"No," he said.

Finn cleared his throat. "Uh," he said. "Excuse me, sir, but... was that _no,_ we're not going to, or _no,_ I'm not going to tell you no?"

Carl chuckled, and it was like the very first bite of the very first chocolate chip cookie. "Maybe," he said. "It's maybe."

"Maybe," he said. It was beautiful. He held it close, cherished it. "Maybe. I can live with maybe, sir."

"All right, Finn." His voice was soft, like a caress. "You should get some sleep."

"Doubtful, sir," he said, smiling.

"Well, close your eyes and pretend, at least," he said.

He bit his lip. "Can I think about you?"

"Finn," Carl said, and _god_, that was the _Voice._ He whimpered. "Sleep."

"Yes, sir," he whispered.

"Good night, Finn." Carl sounded calm and confident, exactly as he should, and Finn held onto the _maybe_, turning it this way and that, like origami, until it looked like a _yes._

"Thank you, sir," he said, and waited for Carl to hang up. It took him twenty seconds, and Finn just sat there listening to his breathing for every one of them. He trembled there on the bed for another thirty seconds, his own heartbeat racing in his ears.

Then he walked to the bathroom door and knocked. "Kurt," he said.

The door opened and Kurt stepped out, arms crossed, and waited. "Well?" he said.

"Maybe," he said. "It's maybe."

Kurt took a deep breath. "Maybe." He put his head on Finn's chest and Finn held him. He wasn't crying now. "That's good, I guess?"

"It's good," he said, holding the origami _yes_ in his head. "It's good, baby."

* * *

><p><em>Where do I go when every no turns into maybe?<br>__So what do I do with this  
><em>_This sudden burst of sunlight, and me with my umbrella  
><em>_Cross-indexing every weatherman's report  
><em>_I was ready for the downslide but not for spring to well up  
><em>_This feeling calls for everything I can't afford to know is possible now_

_What do I do, do I do with a love that won't, that won't sit still  
><em>_Won't do what it's told  
><em>_What do I do, do I do with a love that won't sit still?_

_Everything that I am, everything that I am  
><em>_Everything that I am, everything that I am_

http:/www. youtube. com/watch?v=QLySk3i4dFI


	33. Chapter 33  Carl and Tess

_(Author's note: This chapter of Bending in the Archer's Hand is entirely about Dr. Carl Jesse Howell and the situation with Finn. If you're not interested, you can safely skip the chapter and look forward to the upcoming angsty and tumultuous reunion of Puck with his friends and family. Warnings for Dom/sub and discipline, but this chapter is mostly hurt/comfort and romance. Thanks to flinchflower for co-writing Mistress Tess, and for the magical setting of Tessera._

_The mirror story of Carl's partner Davis, and his own unexpected romance with chef James, can be found in chapter 10 of the Donutverse 50 Kinky Ways. Though it's in many ways the same story as this one, it's much edgier and rife with warnings of its own. Davis and James are our own creations and we hope you enjoy their intense connection. _

_Enjoy, and happy new year! -amy)_

* * *

><p><strong>Friday<strong>

Tess fished her phone out of its holster, and glanced at the display with a frown. _Carl Howell,_ it read. She nodded to Stephen and excused herself, stepping into the quiet of an empty conference room.

"Jesse?"

"Tess... ma'am." He sounded exhausted, and miserable, and there was something in his voice - an underlying tension, that she hadn't heard in years.

"What's the matter, love?" she asked, immediately concerned.

There was a pause, in which she heard him shift and sigh. _He's scared,_ she thought. "I'm... something happened. I'm not sure I can be objective anymore... I could use an outside opinion."

"Of course, Jesse. You know I'm always willing. You take a deep breath, right now, young man. Tell me what happened." It was an order, with some of the steel that always seemed to relax him creeping into her voice.

This time his sigh sounded relieved. "You remember the young men... Finn and his boys. We... hosted them... the last time you visited."

It was difficult, but Tess suppressed the smile. "Of course, love. I keep up with them, Jesse, the boys do call me occasionally, and I hear about them from Dean and Sam as well. What's happened?" She wasn't going to give any ground here, she wanted the story as it stood, though it wasn't hard to imagine that he'd made a mistake - the boys were young, and inexperienced, and mistakes were bound to happen.

"Have you heard about what happened with Puck? He left town -"

"Yes," she sighed. "Kurt did call me, honey, though I don't have many details, I wouldn't let him tell me. I'll need to hear that from Finn or Puck himself."

"All right. I'll have to keep it vague, then. Well, I saw Puck once before he left, and since then - I've seen Finn, several times this week. At first I thought it was just simple consequences, dealing with his guilt - but it was... more complicated than that. You know how it is, when you're working with a young Top like that."

Again, she had to repress a snicker. "I do. Continue, Jesse."

"His time in the office - I ended up using it as an opportunity for teaching, as much as helping him with his own issues. He was... needy. I tried to keep it focused, but somehow... we drifted. It got personal." His tone was rueful. "I let him know it wasn't acceptable, that there were boundaries we couldn't cross. But..."

"First, teenagers ARE needy, Jesse. It comes with the territory. Finn is a very personable young man, I'm not surprised that it should drift somewhat. Now, explain _exactly_ to me just what 'but' means, young man."

Tess didn't hear anything over the connection for a moment. Then she heard a noise - it was faint, but - yes, there it was again: a hitching breath. "Jesse?" she said, more quietly.

"I'm sorry... I'm - _god._ Tess, this is... I made a terrible mistake."

"Carl Jesse Howell. _Right now." _She found her fingers playing about the trigger snap on her quirt, itching to dig into the collar of his shirt and pull it tight. She wished she could have him in front of her, to force him into looking her in the eye, something that always solved the terrible procrastination he always demonstrated when he'd put a foot wrong somewhere.

"I should have sent him away days ago, Tess. He's - I could tell, but I let it go on, because... because I didn't want him to stop coming to see me. I knew I was helping, but... I crossed a line." She heard him sniff.

"By my notation, you'll be bent over for a six count already. Procrastinate further, and you can guarantee that will be doubled, the same way it was when you were twenty-seven."

"Ma'am - " He sounded even more miserable now.

"Don't you ma'am me, Carl Jesse," she almost snarled, fed up with the waffling. "Politeness is _not _going to get you out of telling me exactly what this mistake is! And right this minute." She had a pretty good idea of where this was going, and she wasn't happy to start with, but she was not a woman to make assumptions.

"He - I sent him away. I tried, anyway." She heard a humorless laugh. "But he wouldn't - dammit, _no,_ it wasn't him. It was me. I could have told him to go. But I wanted - I wanted him to stay. I wanted him to - to kiss me."

Tess' mental processes ground to a halt. She had to take a breath of her own before making her first inquiry. "Jesse. What was one of the first things you tried to do, after I'd spanked your bottom crimson, in that first month or so?"

Apparently, he hadn't lost all of his manners, because he took a moment to blow his nose before answering. "I believe I tried something similar with you, ma'am."

"That's right," she said tartly. "We both know it happens."

"You don't understand," he burst out. "I'm - this is _different."_

Tess rested the phone between her ear and her shoulder. "Do you know what I'm getting out of my bag, right now?"

His voice grew small. "Ma'am," he pleaded.

"Three guesses," she said, digging into the bottom of the velvet bag, long fingers searching for the two items she knew were down in there somewhere, tangled up with her pen and stylus, and other things.

"I - I don't -"

"It's a tally stick, and my pocketknife, Jesse. I think you're up to a round dozen by this point. I wouldn't want to forget any of these numbers, now would I? Tell me how it's different, Jesse. Try being direct, or I might have to add another notch or two for evasiveness." Her voice had crept from steel into the realm of icy, and she was making a supreme effort to keep her temper, even as she contemplated how she was going to handle this one.

"Yes, ma'am." It was a bare whisper. "I'm having... feelings. I don't think they're appropriate, but they're definitely there."

"Jesse, that's still vague. Feelings. Give me details, little boy." She mentally resolved to have Stephen ensure that the guest room just outside her quarters was cleaned and prepared for him.

"I don't know. I don't _know._ How do you figure out - I don't even know if he understands what kind of signals he's putting out. I told him I wasn't upset with him, but he's - I really think he needs..." He sighed in frustration. "I feel like I'm twenty-seven again, I swear, Tess. It's like I've never done this before. It's making me crazy."

Tess took in a deep breath, letting him hang there. "Jesse, you're still not telling me very much. What are you feeling for Finn? From my perspective, you could be talking about feeling like his father, feeling like an uncle, a big brother - there are a dozen different relationship nuances-"

"You know what I'm talking about," he snapped. "He _kissed_ me. And _I kissed him back,_ okay?"

Tess didn't hesitate. "Six for disrespect, six for temper. What happened after you kissed?" She dug the knife into the wood of the tally stick, frustrated.

"What happened? _Nothing._ I told him to go home. He went. End of story." Now he sounded like the sullen little boy she remembered.

"Carl. Jesse. Howell." She was gritting her teeth, trying not to yell, not needing Stephen in here hovering at her at the moment. "Yes, you have a situation on your hands. That boy... If I understand correctly, Finn is in a fragile place right now. You tell me _right now_ how that "go home" went, emotionally - for both of you. If you care for him, you'll know what he was feeling."

She heard his breathing growing ragged, his anguish filtering into his words. "He was _right here. _It could have been - bad. God." He paused, and then, in a rush: "I didn't want him to go." She guessed he paused long enough to make sure the world hadn't ended at that statement, and then he added, "I'm sure he didn't want to, either."

"Here is what is going to happen, Jesse Howell. I'll break it down into simple steps for you. First, you are going to assess - _rationally and tactically_ - whether you need to call Finnegan and speak with him once we are through here. Second, you are going to pack your bags, and fly out to me - and you are going to pack your paddle, because I doubt your backside is up to taking the consequences for this tally stick with my quirt. A driver will pick you up at the airport. Third, you'll be staying in the guest room outside my own rooms, and we will be discussing this... at length, once you've paid the price for your mistakes in this conversation. Fourth," she paused, listening to his breathing. "You are a human being, with feelings, with desires, and we will _work this out_, sweetheart. This is not the end of the world. Come to me, and we'll talk it through," she told him quietly, wishing she could pull him in in and kiss his forehead the way she used to after a heartfelt, tearful confession. Not to mention smacking his smart ass with her quirt would do a lot to relieve some of the stress she was feeling.

She could hear the dramatic change in his tone, once she'd set forward these directives. He was sober and calm - still conflicted, she could tell, but no longer being eaten by guilt. "Yes, ma'am - thank you, ma'am. I'll email you my flight details as soon as I've booked them."

"Any other Christmas presents for me, my boy?"

"_Christmas..._ I promised Davis we'd spend it together this year." She heard a muffled curse.

"Not an issue," she told him briskly. "Bring Davis along. Last I remember you're not in a committed Top/brat relationship?"

"God - no. No. It's been years. He's a good friend, Tess, and a fine business partner, but we're just not that compatible when it comes to relationships."

"He still plays?"

He chuckled. "Oh, yes. And to tell you the truth, he definitely needs attention from a Top who's willing to give him what he needs."

"Bring him with you, lovey. I think we can keep him busy, I remember you telling me that you were certain he'd pass the vetting for second floor privileges. Can you be there for him as you promised, for Christmas, and manage to focus on this issue with me as well? And give me a tactical answer, instead of the wallowing you've been indulging in."

"I'm not sure I can promise that." He sounded doubtful, and she could hear the self-recrimination was beginning to creep back into his voice.

"Where is the doubt ambushing you, Jesse?" She was perfectly calm. "If Davis needs a Top to play with, you know perfectly well we have a dearth of them here. Do you suppose he'd consider the trip here to be a Christmas gift?"

"He may very well," he said, and now he sounded grateful. "Thank you."

She chuckled. "I have an idea for you. I know you still play - give him the "gift" while he's collared, and then unclip his leash, put it in his hand. He'll be on his own, you might not have the time or energy to watch after him. We'll keep an eye on him for you."

He was honestly impressed. "I'll do exactly that, ma'am."

"There's my good boy," she suggested. "I'll have him housed on the second floor, by my office where the staff can keep an eye on him, and he'll be close to you, just in case. Will that help?"

"I'd appreciate that so much," he said. Tess could tell a good deal of Jesse's anxiety was stemming from his concern for those under his charge - and that he considered Finn to fall into the same category was telling, indeed.

"That's what we'll do then. I promised Kurt I'd speak with him tomorrow, I'll make sure he understands that he and Finn are on their own for the next few days, sweetheart - no, I won't let your secret out. They should know where you are, if they've been coming to you for support, don't you think? Perhaps if you tell Finn that when you speak to him, and I'll ensure Kurt is all right."

"You - you think I should talk to him?" He sounded uneasy. "Maybe I should give him some time..."

"With teenagers, time is the worst thing to give them - they wallow, honey," she said with a laugh. "At the very least, you need to tell him yourself that you'll be away, and unavailable in person. I think he might find some comfort knowing that you're somewhere that he... understands. If you want to wait, and think it over, that's fine. You'll know what to do, young man."

"All right. I'll call him tomorrow, from Tessera. I don't... I don't think I'm ready to talk to him yet."

"That's fine, darling. And if you need my help while you're on that call, it's yours."

"Thank you," he whispered. She knew what that exhausted tone heralded.

"Perhaps early bed for you, hmmmm?" she asked, glancing at her watch. Stress always had tired him out.

"I think that's a good idea," he sighed. "I'll take care of this plane reservation first, and then I'll head home."

"Yes. And Jesse?"

"Ma'am?"

"Mistakes don't diminish love. You need to remember that, sweetheart."

She heard his breath catch, and when he responded, his voice was low and thick with emotion. "You always know exactly what to say... Tess."

"I do love you, you foolish boy. Now go and rest, and don't forget that paddle when you're packing tomorrow."

He managed a chuckle. "I won't, ma'am. You can count on it."

"Goodnight, love."

* * *

><p><strong>Saturday<strong>

Carl unzipped his jacket as they stepped through the front door. He was glad he'd had time to rid himself of his professional outfit, which had been scrubs, today, before they'd hopped the flight down to the Fort Madison airport - Carl had gotten lucky for once and found a flight directly there - and relaxed in the Tessera van the rest of the way to the club, one of the competent young security personnel at the wheel. It was a trip Carl had taken dozens of times, but this was the first time he'd brought Davis along with him. He wished it had been under different circumstances.

He handed his jacket to the girl in the coatroom with a wan smile. "Hi, Jenny. How're things tonight?"

"Hopping, Carl," she said, smiling back. She looked over Davis with barely disguised appreciation. "Who's your friend?"

"I'm Davis," he said, leaning over and holding out his hand for her to shake.

"I'm charmed," she replied, eyes alight.

"He's gay," Carl said in a stage whisper, and she sighed in disappointment. "Really, really gay."

"Doesn't stop me from being a gentleman," Davis protested, as Carl ushered him through the second set of doors into the club proper. Carl choked on a laugh.

"You, a gentleman? Give me a break. Come on, I need to see Tess." The need was palpable, now, and he had enough experience on both the getting and the giving side of things to know it wasn't going to get any better until she dealt with it.

A familiar face greeted him in the hall, holding a walkie-talkie and smiling. "Carl! It's good to see you."

"Stephen," Carl said, clasping the majordomo's hand. "So good to be back here. It's been too long." He introduced him to Davis, and Stephen offered him a friendly handshake.

"Let me take you to Tess," Stephen said easily. The first strains of music came down the hallway. Stephen led the men up the short set of steps into the dance hall, where a wide ring of people were swaying to a pulsing beat. Davis' eyes widened at the sight of chef James dancing with Tess. He was something to behold, graceful even at his height, and the two of them cut a stunning figure. Tess looked magnificent in her flowing red dress as they danced James' specialty, the Argentine tango.

"Wow," Davis in a hushed voice, making Carl smile. Tess' eyes lit on them, and a smile finally broke through her serious demeanor. She spoke quietly to James, and he nodded, taking her arm gently, and leading her over.

"Jesse! It's so good to see you, sweetheart," she said, clearly delighted, and James very gently transferred her hand to Carl's, who brought her fingers to his lips for a kiss.

"Yes, it is," Carl replied, and put a hand on Davis' back, drawing him forward. "You remember Davis, Tess."

"I'm pleased see you again, Davis," said Tess in her low, silky voice.

"Mistress Tess," he smiled, bowing over her hand. "You don't look a day older than the last time I saw you - what was it, eleven years ago?"

"Thank you," she replied, inclining her head gracefully. "Please let me introduce James Robins - James is the head chef for Chanterelle, our in-house restaurant."

"Is that right?" Davis murmured, offering his hand. "Head chef. Marvelous." His eyes ran up and down James' body shamelessly. "I do love to... eat. You know, I've been told that cooking food and presenting it beautifully is one of the most sincere acts of servitude."

The chef's blue eyes flashed. "Rosalind Coward," came the deep voice. "I consider fine food to be a privilege, myself."

"A privilege, indeed," Davis acknowledged, inclining his head. "I dare say, I think hard before I put anything in my mouth."

"If... thinking... were to be allowed," James said, nodding towards Carl.

Carl tried to suppress his smile. The rule at Tessera was that subs needed to be accompanied by a Top at all times, and although he was willing to fill in for Davis when needed, he hadn't been Davis' partner for many years. "Davis has full autonomy here," he said. Then he added, under his breath, but loud enough for all present company to hear, "He's fully capable of messing up on his own, believe me."

"Perhaps he would benefit from a tour- and a review of the club rules," James suggested, glancing now at Tess.

"Would you, James? I should like some time with Jesse, dear."

"I'd be delighted, Tess," came the deep rumbling answer. Carl could see Davis responding, even as he felt his own self quiver with anticipation. Tess gave a sharp nod.

"With me, Jesse," he heard her quiet voice demand, and he followed her from the dance floor. He waited restlessly while she checked in with Stephen, and was surprised when she headed straight for the stairwell. He felt a little squiggle of hope, which was promptly squashed when she spoke to the security officer on duty at the hidden door between the public and private wing.

He swung the door open with a courteous nod to both of them, and Tess led him down the long, dim corridor. She hadn't bothered with the staff corridor, she was taking the most direct route possible to her office. Carl swallowed tightly. He knew it was going to be a much longer route, for him, to get what he needed.

He watched as she used the heavy iron key to open the office door. She shooed him inside, locking the door behind herself, and he shivered again at the sound of the door latching in place.

"First things first," she said briskly, as she always had, and he had to smooth a hand across the rough fabric of his jeans, wiping the perspiration away. "Here you are." She deposited a marked tally stick into his open palm and gazed down at him with a grim expression. "I don't suppose you could list off the misbehaviours notated there?"

The words caught in his throat, but he cleared it, and began again. "Crossing boundaries, with a... a young man in my care."

"No," came her firm words. "I will not spank you for that, not before we discuss it together. II refer solely to our conversation. I believe you should remember what I marked that for."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, lower this time. "Disrespectful behavior... losing my temper and showing impatience... " He flickered a glance up at her. "Does that about cover it, ma'am?"

"That is an excellent start, Jesse. You've missed one, though. No - don't speak. Procrastination, Jesse. It seems your old nemesis is back, and I don't intend that it have room to grow. Pants down, please." She seated herself on the long couch.

"I - " He closed his eyes and hung his head. "I don't think I understand myself very well these days.

"You've given me lip, sworn, and dragged your feet when asked direct questions. What are the consequences for those things?"

_Harsh, immediate and fair._ "A spanking, ma'am," he said, in a flat tone.

"Correct. I suggest you not drag your feet further - that's another three you've added there, darling. Pants down, _now_."

Carl undid his jeans and slid them down to his ankles, watching her for further direction. Her hand didn't reach out to guide him over her knee though, the way she normally did. Instead, he watched with some horror as her hand went to her belt, unsnapping the quirt from its ring. He felt her gaze pierce him, and he shivered.

"Hold this, please," came the order, as she handed him the quirt. He accepted the implement with numb hands. "Now, over my knee, Jesse." Now her hand came up to guide him across her waiting lap, and he laid himself out, flushing red. "I am going to spank your bottom, young man. You do not procrastinate. You do not swear. You are respectful at all times. And you may hold that quirt while I spank you - because if I see any of those behaviours again, it won't be my hand across your bottom, it will be that quirt. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, ma'am," he responded quickly, hearing the strangled catch in his own throat. It was her _presence_ as much as her words he responded to - that, and for all their similar years, when he stood before her like this, he was nothing but an insolent, confused lieutenant again. He suspected it would always be thus, with Tess. He could count on her to give him exactly the discipline he needed - and, apparently, he _needed it._

"Good. I make that total out to be twenty-seven, at this time. See that you don't add to it, before I allow you to stand."

Her hand came crashing down onto his backside, leaving a flaming handprint behind. _ Oh shit,_ he thought, _she's going to draw this out._ He barely resisted squirming, as the burn heightened, and she smacked his sensitive cheek again just as the sensation started to become bearable. Another long moment passed before the third swat, and half of his backside was now on fire, after just four swats. He felt the lingering tinder of stubborn resentment he'd been feeling burned to ashes in the heat of her punishment, leaving only stinging tears and regret.

The next four swats lit up the bottom half, and the two after had him yelping as the sensitive crease between buttock and thigh exploded into a haze of pain. And then her hard palm repeated the trip, from the tops of his exposed, flinching cheeks and back down to that critically tender line. She made two more slow rounds, spanking excruciatingly slowly, but steadily, and then he felt the last three - or was it four? swats land across the tops of his thighs.

How the hell had he forgotten what she was capable of? He flinched as her palm rested across his flaming bottom.

"Are we done, Jesse? Or am I forgetting anything?"

"No, ma'am," he said softly.

She drew his shorts up over his bottom briskly, and patted the sore surface. "Up with you, pull up those pants, now. Are you ready to listen?"

He settled himself gingerly on the couch beside her. "I'll do my best."

"There's my good boy," she said fondly, touching his face. "We have all the time in the world to talk, my Jesse. And I most sincerely hope that a warm bottom will prevent me from having to spank you for those same issues again. That is your choice, however."

He knew it was true, though in the moments when she was promising her punishment, it was easy to forget he was in charge of his own actions. "I don't know why I'm having such trouble with this one," he admitted. "I'm not the bratty kid I was in California, Tess."

Tess snorted, an extremely unladylike sound that had him blinking at her, startled.

"I've got a pretty good idea, love. Lay it down. Let me carry the worry. And you, my love, will always be a brat to me." She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, very gently, taking his hand in hers. He felt the welcome tears spring to his eyes, and she tsked quietly. "Lay your head, love. Come now." Her strong hands gently guided him to lay down, curled up in a miserable lump, head cushioned on her lap, the soft fabric catching at his eyelashes as he blinked against the tears.

Her hand, which had been so hard moments ago, as the dire heat of his ass could attest to, now softly stroked along his shoulder and down the length of his spine, carding through his hair.

"Silly boy," she told him. "Whatever have you in your hair? Cement?"

"Davis gave it to me," he murmured. "Said it would - never mind. I can wash it out if you like."

"See that you do so, then. Just relax, lovey, I'm right here. I'm right here, Jesse. This is no bigger than any other issue we've talked through, my sweet. This is solvable, this isn't the end of the world, or the place where you abandon your heart for a stone memorial." Her small hands continued to gentle him, stroking along the tension of his temples, and the sensitive back of his neck, which had him shivering.

Her words made it actually seem possible, for the first time, and the release into tears came quickly. "He - he's -" he tried, but he couldn't get the words out.

"Shhhh. Not tonight, love. Don't worry, just let it go. It's all right to be sad and confused, my sweet boy." The choking sensation grew worse, and he fought against the feeling that he couldn't breathe.

"No no, Jesse. Come here - no, sit right up, dearest, there you are - come here, you're all right." Her arms enfolded him, bringing his head to her shoulder, where he was able to bury his face in her neck, smelling the soothing scent of the rose scent that she always wore. She shifted, and her wiry arms drew him into her lap, where he moved without thinking to help her, automatically. "I'm right here, it's just me holding you. I'm not going to let go, you're safe, Jesse. We'll work this out."

He let her carry his weight, with her strength and attention, and eventually his tears were done. Even so, he sat there, feeling her hand stroking down his back, letting his breathing slow and his eyes fall closed.

She waited until his tense body had relaxed, and he was drawing in steady breaths, not quite asleep, but probably more relaxed than he'd been in a while. He felt his stomach growl, and she laughed, though he'd have ignored it.

"I heard that. Come now. Sit up, let me see you." He shivered again as her grey eyes searched his, and then was warmed by her smile, as she seemed to find what she was looking for. "All right, lovey. You're going to wash your face and hands, and then we're going to go down on the terrace for a glass of wine, and perhaps something to nibble on. All right?"

He took her hand and stood, trying not to wince at the burn on his backside. "Wine sounds excellent. Food, too. You take good care of me, Tess."

"It's easier when you're well behaved," she teased, kissing his cheek again. "Let me call down for something while you're cleaning up."

Carl's mind was much clearer as he washed his face and scrubbed styling product out of his hair, but a clear mind was dangerous all by itself. It gave him the ability, looking back on the events of the last few days, to see all the warning signs he should have caught from Finn. He knew it was common, for there to be some sexual energy between himself and his clients, but he was experienced at redirecting it, dismissing it, and moving on. And yet - he hadn't done that here, not in any way that had helped, anyway. The guilt leapt upon him like a pack of hyenas. He leaned his head on the mirror and sighed.

She took one look at him when he emerged, and said sternly, _"Jesse." _ He flinched. "Come here."

He went to her, avoiding her eyes. "Ma'am," he said.

She gripped his arm firmly, and turned him slightly. Her hand patted his bottom for emphasis with each word - not hard, but he was squirming at the re-ignition of the recently spanked surface. "Leave. Off. Worrying. We will talk this over, Jesse. Right now, you are going to go down to the terrace with me, where both of us will have a proper meal. And then, I suspect we'll get to find out what's happened with James and Davis - frankly I'd have expected James to be tapping at my door by now. Are you not in the least curious about that?"

Carl started at the suggestion, realizing he hadn't given one thought to Davis or his needs since he'd arrived at Tessera. "I - I hope he's finding the place satisfactory, of course," he said.

Tess didn't hold back this time, and he yelped fervently as her hand cracked across his butt.

"Carl Jesse."

"Ma'am," he said hurriedly.

"I can call back down to let them know I need ten minutes, and put you back over my knee if you need," came her tart observation. "Davis is not your responsibility, by your own words. And I sent him off with _James,_ for heaven's sake - are you distrusting me? Or distrusting that James is a responsible Top? Because if that's the case, we've got bigger issues, boy."

"Oh, no." He thought about the hulking chef, and the way Davis' eyes had lit up when he'd taken him out on the dance floor, and he smiled. "I think they're well matched. He needs someone who's willing to make him their sole focus for a while. I haven't been able to give him that in years."

He realized suddenly that they were walking through the hall, heading down the staircase, and into the library, which he hadn't spent much time in. "There's a private entrance to the terrace, through the conservatory. We needn't enter the club." She paused in the doorway, beautiful face framed by the greenery behind her. "If you'd be more comfortable talking, in days to come, in here, or any of the other rooms in my wing, please say so, honey."

The room was beautiful, it was true, and peaceful in a way he appreciated. His own bathroom garden in Ohio was a small homage to the lush paradise of Tessera. Even mired in his own thoughts, it was a source of comfort. "Thank you, Tess."

"Of course. Right through here." She went through a double set of doors, leading him gently with her, until they stepped onto the the swirling brick of the terrace itself, the stars shining above brightly through the glass ceiling. They didn't go very far, she turned immediately into a spacious alcove, one that had room enough for a table and sideboard, where two covered plates were set at the table. One of the dark-grey uniformed servers emerged, to uncover the service, and pour two glasses of wine, and Carl finally remembered his manners, drawing the chair back for Tess, as was befitting for a lady.

"Lady," came a rumbling voice, and they looked up as Davis and James approached. A slow smile, one that was almost more a smirk, crossed her face. Davis clearly noticed his sober expression and squirming in his chair, because he gave him a sympathetic smile. Although Davis' response to discipline was a little _unusual,_ he still appreciated that most people preferred _not_ to be spanked until their bottoms were crimson.

"James, Davis. Did you enjoy the tour?" she asked sweetly.

"It's been... incredible," Davis said, sounding breathless, and smiled at her.

"I understand from Jesse that you've been in many of the major clubs across the country," she inquired.

He nodded. "I travel a lot for work, and it's been a personal goal of mine to visit a club in every state. Yours makes thirty-three."

Tess' eyebrows both arched in some surprise. "I should enjoy discussing that with you then, perhaps tomorrow? Do we... measure up?" she asked, voice silky, and her eyes glancing up and down James' form suggestively.

"In every way," he affirmed, joining her in her glance at James, a delighted laugh escaping his lips. James seemed to bear this teasing with stoic good humor.

A uniformed young man stepped up, and quietly claimed James' attention, drawing him to the side.

"Please, Davis, have a seat. I'm sure James will only be a moment." She rose, poured two more glasses of wine and set them down on the table. Once she'd seated herself again, she reached around and, with a sharp yank, drew Carl's chair closer to hers, motioning to two chairs that were just behind Davis. Davis sat backwards in the chair, leaning on the patterned back.

Tess raised an eyebrow. "Properly, perhaps."

"Ma'am," he said, immediately switching the chair around and reseating himself, sitting a little straighter than he had a moment ago. He grinned at Carl, and Carl regarded him with amusement.

"That was quick," he muttered. Davis was notorious for being a resistant brat, and seldom followed directions so quickly. He flinched as Tess slapped his hip under the table..

A few moments later, another one of the uniformed boys slipped up to the table and quietly set small appetizer plates before each of them. "James, you terrible sneak," Tess exclaimed. James smiled.

"The night is young," James suggested. "And Lindsay was experimenting with my recipe file, and an odd shipment of mushrooms earlier, so you'll speak up if anything isn't to taste, hmm?" He reached out and served himself, and then Davis, leaving Tess' choices to her.

Davis reached out one curious finger and trailed it through the sauce on his plate, then settled the finger between his lips. "Delicious," he proclaimed.

James shook his head, reaching over to disentangle the fine linen napkin from the silverware, draping the cloth about Davis' lap, setting the silverware down carefully in the proper places. His blue eyes bored into Davis' twinkling ones. And then he gently raised Davis' hand, and sharply slapped the backs of his fingers.

"Behave. There's a lady present."

"Forgive me," Davis murmured to Tess, inclining his head, and picked up his fork, his devilish smile not one whit diminished by the slap.

Tess shook her head and shot a narrow eyed glare at Carl, as if Davis' misbehaviour were somehow Carl's fault. Carl's eyes widened, and he opened his hands in an _it wasn't me_ gesture.

Tess simply served both of them, and when she tapped the side of Carl's plate, he picked up his own silverware and cut into the mushroom quiche with clear pleasure.

"Oh my," Tess said. "Sweet Forest Nameko mushroom custard tarts! I've had these before - would you believe from a sixteen year old's hands? Puck does enjoys cooking for his lovers - they're both seventeen, James - Davis knows them, as does _Jesse," _Tess said with wicked emphasis. Davis gave Carl another sympathetic glance.

"Well then," James rumbled. "How do they compare? Lindsay could use the criticism."

Tess gave him a wry look. "Well, these are a little sharper? Perhaps I should have YOU make some, James," she suggested, a wicked twinkle to her eyes.

"You know... Puck?" Davis said hesitantly, glancing at Carl, who was red-faced and scowling.

"Yes," she said gently. "My partner's boys met Puck and his family a few months ago, and as the boys were just discovering their relationship, my - I suppose you might call them stepsons, for ease of conversation, thought they might benefit from some advice. As it turns out, my partner and Mr. Hummel - Kurt's father," she added for James' benefit. "seem to get along very well, so I've kept in touch with the boys. Although, apparently not as well as I should."

Carl winced, but James just smiled. "I'll look forward to seeing Puck again, and meeting his partners someday. Tess, I should like to ask what your expectations for the rest of the evening are, I wasn't able to answer Davis, when he asked where he and Carl might be quartered?"

"I thought perhaps guest quarters, in my wing, James. Though I'll be keeping Jesse with me tonight." Carl sighed deeply; he'd expected this.

"I'd be happy to show Davis to the Ranier Room on the second floor," James said quietly.

"That sounds lovely, James. The two of you cut quite a lovely figure on the dance floor earlier, will you perhaps dance? And the demo hall should have some fun started by this point." They had all sat back a little from the table, the appetizer platter nicely diminished.

"I'll need to check in with the kitchen, if Davis doesn't mind accompanying me, and we'll see," came the calm and steady reply, as James set his empty wine glass down on the table.

"I'll follow you anywhere," Davis said softly, gazing up at James.

James rose, and held his hand out for Davis to balance against as he rose. James and Tess exchanged a significant glance. "Thank you for the dinner company," he added to Tess as they departed.

Carl watched James and Davis go with a smile on his face. "I must say," he murmured, leaning in to Tess as he folded his napkin, "I haven't seen him this happy in... well. Years. Maybe ever."

"You certainly weren't exaggerating about his capabilities as a brat. Did he even wince when he sat? I didn't see it."

Carl's eyes danced. "He loves it. Really. I haven't ever reached a point at which he was willing to use a safe word. But he needs far more attention than either of us have time for." He paused, musing. "I wonder if I could just send him away for a month. He needs a vacation like nobody's business."

"You both do, and you're here with me," she said firmly. "And from the look on James' face, he's not going to let go of your boy unless Davis asks."

"That's precisely what he needs," Carl nodded soberly. "It's been frustrating for both of us, to watch him dealing with clients, but never really finding something for _him."_ He suddenly realized what he'd said. _I wonder if Davis felt the same way about me?_

Tess shrugged. "Things happen in good time, love. James is very reserved about these things."

"Hmmm. That hand-slap wasn't reserved, Tess. That was pretty familiar. And Davis didn't even object."

Her eyes sparked as she looked at him. "I know that look, honey, at least on my chef. James had him over his knee upstairs, I guarantee you. That does tend to breed familiarity, hmm?"

Carl knew Davis wasn't his responsibility, not tonight, but he couldn't help but worry about his old friend. He chewed on his lip. "Is that something he does often?"

Tess leaned forward and tapped a finger to get him to stop biting his lip. "That's a terrible habit, Jesse. No, it's not something he does often. And if you're starting to worry, please don't. If something happens, or if he leaves Davis on his own in the room we've prepared for him, he'll let me know." Her smile was very gentle. "We look out for one another, love. James, Stephen, and Alec have been with me for fourteen years or more, and they're all Marines, if you didn't know. Beau's boys."

"I know. I can't tell you how many times I've called Beau with a recommendation for a boy who'd outgrown the midwest and needed a change of scenery. He's helped me out countless times." He stacked the dishes and took Tess' silverware before he realized what he was doing, then put them back on the table with a chuckle. "Boy. Old habits die hard with me, apparently."

She laughed. "Not bad habits to have. You can set the things on the sideboard, at any rate, for the server."

He cleared the rest of the table in silence, and once the last piece of unused silver was set to the side, she rose and kissed his cheek, offering him her hand.

"I need to make my rounds, love. Would you do me the honor of escorting me?"

Carl took her hand with a smile. "It would be my absolute pleasure, Tess."

It never failed to amuse him how well matched he felt, walking with her, despite the fact that he was dreadfully underdressed for the task. He'd expected to be swept into the third floor guest room in disgrace, and this was a surprise. The sound of her gentle voice greeting guests and friends was soothing as they moved slowly through the rooms on the first floor. She was always very graceful, and he felt calmer still, appreciating the pretty sights which decorated the club - both the building itself, and the people adorning it.

He felt pleasantly tired as they climbed the hall stairs to the second floor, wincing a little as his black jeans chafed against his well-spanked butt. Much to his surprise, there was no one in the little hallway, and he watched, intrigued, as she pulled out her keys and opened a door along the back wall of the hallway. It was dim in the hallway that she drew him carefully into.

"There are some players in the club tonight that we monitor. I thought perhaps this way we could speak privately, while I keep an eye on things. Do _not_ raise your voice, young man, or I'll strip those pants from you, stripe your ass, and you can do the walk of shame without the benefit of anything covering your bottom on the way to your room. There's not adequate soundproofing back here to hide a raised voice from the rooms."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, keeping his voice low. It felt deliciously decadent to be in a place where he didn't have to be _responsible_ for anything. He stretched, stifling a yawn in his hand. "Forgive me," he said. "I think I'm more tired than I expected."

She paused. "I can walk you to your room, if you like, Jesse. I know it's been a long day for you."

"I'm not sure my thoughts are ready to let me sleep, yet," he said. He leaned back on the wall and crossed his arms, watching her work, observing the occupants of one of the rooms through a one-way mirror.

She stepped back, frowned at him, and smacked his hip lightly. "Out with it," she ordered. "I don't care if it feels petty, or unimportant, or if you don't quite know how you feel, you are to stop dwelling on things in that pretty head of yours and talk to me."

He stopped himself before he started chewing on his lip again, putting his hands down on the wall and sighing at the ceiling. "You've been doing this a long time, Tess. Handling young men and women, giving them the tools they need to become the Tops and subs they'll become when they grow up. And - you have personal relationships as well. How do you keep them separate? How... how do you figure out what's just for _you?"_

"Do you remember Major Black?"

He laughed. "How could I forget? He's the one who turfed me out with you to straighten me out, all those years ago."

"Both Black and I spent an inordinate amount of time with you parked in our offices. He cared a great deal about what happened to you, sweetie. Which one of us do you spend more time talking to, these days?"

"I haven't spoken to the Major in over a decade," he said. "So - you, of course." He cocked his head. "What's your point?"

She had begun to nod, the gas lamps in the corridor throwing the fine bones of her face into relief, and stopped on his last question. "Mind your manners," came the gentle reminder. "So which of those two relationships was personal, was just for you? When you discharged, he and I spent a long night with a bottle of wine, over supper, and I feel safe to say he cared for you as much as I, at the time."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Tess... you can't tell me he was at all interested. Not like you and I were."

"Sweetheart, Black has a big heart. He felt like your father half the time, not your commanding officer. He was interested in you, not sexually, but for him it was very personal at the time. He was there when you graduated, remember?"

Carl clasped his hands together, knowing the tension was still there, under his skin. "I remember."

"It was personal for both of us, my dear. What you needed for yourself, was to have a relationship with me - which has lasted a very long time, hasn't it. And before you worry, no, you didn't hurt him by drifting away. If you were to call him and ask him, he'd laugh and give you that old one-liner about feckless boys, and demand to know how the hell you are. He still cares, honey, it's just not a priority for either of you."

He nodded, feeling a degree of the tension slip away. "I think you're right about that."

"Now if you'd asked each of us that night when we had supper together, neither one of us would have been able to predict where our relationships were, years in the future. Both of us simply took things as they came, honestly and directly."

"I've never had trouble delineating the line between client and lover before, Tess. Not since you, anyway." He turned worried eyes on her. "I don't know what makes this time different. How do you choose to let your heart get involved, without compromising what you're offering to the person you're mentoring?"

She reached for him, turning his chin up, and then her soft lips brushed his briefly. "There's the honesty I like. It wasn't an easy decision for me then, love." She ran a thumb across his knuckles, fingers wrapping around his. "There's two issues in that question. One, letting your heart get involved. Jesse, you'd be a very poor Top if your heart didn't help you with each and every one of your clients. The degree varies. Right now, you've got an extreme situation on your hand. The second issue, how to not let it compromise your mentoring? That's a long conversation, lovey. And that you can ask that question is one of the reasons why I love you so, Jesse. We can talk about that as we go along, while you're here."

He smiled at her gratefully, leaning into her warmth and comfort. "I am so thankful for you, Tess," he murmured. "You have a way of making complicated things so much easier."

She chuckled. "They are easier when you think them through properly, you silly boy. Now. I know you well enough to understand, though I do wish you'd break the habit, that you're not going to open the door to the monster in the closet. Finnegan is sixteen years old. You're forty-six. Thirty years difference is substantial."

"I know," he groaned, putting a hand over his eyes. "Trust me, I'm _very _aware of the number of years involved. I don't need anybody else making me feel _old."_

She pulled him forward and smacked his backside. "Are you going to let me finish, my brat?"

He sighed. "Yes."

"You are not going to dwell on that, and turn it over and over in your head. You're going to make a list, of all the issues you can think of, about potentially having a relationship - and a sexual relationship - with someone thirty years younger than yourself, who is still in school, and still living under a parent's roof - and a caring, loving, sensible parent at that."

"Tess, there's no need. I'm very clear already that this - this is _never_ going to happen. He's far too young, and already far too attached to me. I can't let it go any further. We're going to have to cut things short - just end it. That's all there is to say about it."

"Carl Jesse. If you really felt that way about it? You wouldn't be here with me right now, sporting a sore behind that's going to be far more sore if you continue in this vein - Jesse, _who is in charge, here._"

"You are," he said, blinking.

"You will present me with that list over breakfast tomorrow morning, and if you've forgotten anything I intend to point that out and allow you to add it."

"Yes, ma'am." He stared across from him, seeing the endless number of items on the list, as though watching them scroll across the wall. _Jesus._

"Once an item is on that list, you will put it from your head until we discuss it. I recall you've had any number of lessons in how to do so. Now, you are displaying the sort of behaviour that tells me you're tired. Come along now. Stephen will meet me at the end of this corridor, and we'll go upstairs."

He followed her without question into the hallway, stumbling a little over his own feet. "I'm going to need some paper," he said, sighing. "A lot of paper."

She glanced at him, and he thought maybe there was a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. She exchanged a few quiet words with Stephen, and led him through yet another surprise door, this one entering into the second floor of the public wing, and across into the private wing. She unlocked her office, gathering the message slips, and glancing through them, leaving them on her desk.

He tried not to flinch when she slid open her desk drawer, as he stood hovering at the edge of the big wooden surface. No implements paraded forth, and he took a strangled breath in relief. Instead, she handed him a fat blank composition book, one with very narrow lines inside, and rummaged again, turning up a pen and pencil set nestled in a wooden box. She made sure the pen worked, and that there was lead in the pencil, and handed that to him as well.

"There you are. Come along." He trailed in her wake up the stairs, where she unlocked the small room just outside her quarters, and led him inside. "The bathroom is across the hall, honey. Get out your pajamas, and shower. Be quick about it, I'll wait right here."

The length of the notebook, and the width of the distance between the lines, didn't seem like nearly enough to Carl as he shed his clothes and stood under the generous spray of the shower head. _I can already think of a thousand reasons why it would be a horrible, stupid idea, for him as well as for me,_ he thought, letting the water run into his eyes and scrubbing his face vigorously. _Why am I even bothering with this?_

She sighed when he came back into the room, looking at the turned down covers to the bed, and the notebook and pen set neatly lying on the small writing desk. He squirmed when she seated herself on the bed, and beckoned to him. He walked to her slowly. Her firm grip on his arm was comforting, and he was unsurprised when she guided him over her lap, and patted his hip.

"Lift up, we'll have these off for a moment."

The spanking was brief, but thorough - _like everything she did,_ he thought. He eased back onto the bed and leaned on the pile of pillows that waited for him, watching her with tired eyes. She shook her head at him.

"Now. I expect that list in the morning. Do not stay up all night whining and fretting about it. If you can't sleep, you are to come get me. The door here -" she pulled a heavy curtain aside, "- opens into my kitchenette. You remember how my quarters are laid out, I'm just at the end of the hallway. If I see in the morning that you've not been sleeping, we can start the day with your paddle. I thought you might sleep better in here, and be disturbed less with all the coming and going, than in the guest room, and it will be easier for Davis to find you if he needs - James will have shown him where you're at."

"Yes, ma'am," he said. He was rather surprised she hadn't already asked him to pull the paddle out. "I'm glad you've thought all this through. It's a relief, I can tell you."

She leaned down to pull the covers over him, and bent to smooth her hand over his short hair, kissing his forehead. "Sleep well, darling. And come get me if you need me. If I'm not in my quarters, just text me, I have my phone."

He sat, thinking, while she closed the door behind her. The pen was pleasantly heavy and moved smoothly across the page as he tried it out. _You're an idiot, Carl,_ he wrote. _And a fool._

Then he sighed and turned to a fresh page, beginning with _1. 30 years age difference._

Writing was a kind of meditation of its own, as teachers who have assigned lines for millennia have known, and Carl found himself dropping into a contemplative state in which his list of reasons why not became points to consider, issues to surmount, challenges to overcome. Each one carried with it its own set of possibilities, some of which were frightening - but others which were frankly tempting, even titillating. And Carl could see, in each numbered point, the ways in which Finn could meet the challenge, with his courage and resourcefulness, and unflagging optimism. He had faith in him.

It wasn't until the middle of the night, when he woke from the dream, in which Finn was seated at Carl's desk with him, comfortably on his knee, reviewing the list with him and smiling, saying _that one's not going to be any problem, you know,_ that he realized just how very wrong this process had gone. He struggled out of bed and hurried across the hall, clutching his notebook, and tapped on Tess' half-open door.

"Jesse," came her velvet voice out of the darkness as he hovered just outside of her doorway. "Come here, love."

He crept into her room, hating the tears on his face, but knowing just as well he couldn't face this alone. "I'm sorry to wake you, Tess..." He pushed forward, placing the notebook on the bed with a scornful nudge. "I fell asleep writing this... this _drivel..._" He opened the page to show her the list. "It started out just fine, and then by the end - I mean, just look. I'm talking myself into things here, trying to convince myself - finding ways to make it work." He shook his head, wrapping his arms around himself. "Ridiculous. And there's nothing... I can't see anything good coming of this. I'm calling him. Right now. And I'm telling him to stop. I'm ending this."

Tess snapped the beside light on, glancing at the page as she sat up. "Hand me your phone," she said mildly.

With a sigh, he handed it over to her. "Davis got his number this afternoon. It's in there."

She tucked it into her bedside drawer. "My quirt is on my dressing table. Fetch it."

He did so without question. There was no doubt in his mind as to his guilt, here.

She'd slid into her robe by the time he turned around. "Lose the pants." He swallowed and discarded the soft fabric. "Hands on the bed, bend over."

The agony of three - _god, she wasn't holding back_ - stripes burst into an almost welcome warmth. "That's for the attitude. Now read me that first sentence."

He looked startled, glancing first at the page and then up at her stern face. "I was just testing the pen, Tess, for god's sake -"

The quirt smacked down harder than it had before, another set of three on his bare backside, and he couldn't help but let out a startled cry at the strokes. "Tess!"

"Now."

He gritted his teeth and read the words. "You're... you're an idiot, Carl. And a fool."

Another stroke fell. "Amend that statement."

"How?"

Another two blazing stripes added to the party on his backside.

"I suggest you try. What's wrong with that sentence, Carl Jesse."

He hung his head. "I'm guessing you're referring to the lack of self-respect... ma'am."

"Precisely. Unless you'd like to keep adding to your tally, I suggest you amend that - NOW."

"I'm - I'm _not_ an idiot. Or a fool." He shook his head. "I know what I have to do."

She smacked him again. "And what's that."

"I have to tell him..." He paused, then choked out the rest. "I can never see him again."

Tess crossed the strokes on the diagonal, twice. And hard. "Wrong."

"What?" he yelped. "Tess - I can't _do_ this to him. There are a dozen different ways - at least, look! - that this could ruin his life, his relationships. His future. I can't do that."

"Did you, or did you not, Carl Jesse Howell, agree to mentor those three boys?"

He didn't respond right away, but as she raised the quirt again, he hurriedly added, "Yes - but I can find him another mentor."

She leaned down, close enough that he could smell the scent of the soap she used. "Are you telling me that you're abandoning the responsibility you assured me you could handle?" Her voice was smooth in his ear, barely audible, and passionate. He couldn't tell whether it was anger, or something else, that drove her words.

"I _can't_ handle it, Tess. That's what I'm trying to tell you. I've already failed him. He came to me, looking for someone to teach him, and I took advantage of it." He could feel the panic welling up inside.

"If you can't handle that kind of responsibility," came her strong voice, "if you can't handle living up to your mistakes, to fixing them in good faith, then you shouldn't be topping anyone. You did not take advantage of _anyone_. And you need to Stop. Abusing. Yourself." Those last three words were accompanied by the sting of the quirt.

And with those words, the dam finally burst, and all the hurt and fear and guilt of the past weeks came flooding out in a string of loud sobs. His elbows collapsed, and he wept into the surface of the bed, shuddering and crying out when her strong arms pulled him up, and into her lap, surrounding him safely as he trembled underneath the flood of tears. He felt the warmth of blankets surrounding his cold body, and he clung to her, sobbing into her neck as she murmured quietly to him, swaying with him a little.

"There you are, you needed to let that go, Jesse. You're all right. Now, are we done with the nonsense, little boy?" Her hand smoothed over his bottom, relighting the stripes there as she stroked. He squirmed, but only a little.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, sniffing.

She picked up the notebook, and read through the long list, rocking him as she turned the pages slowly. "All right. Look at me, honey. Look right at me, you don't hide from me."

He turned red eyes to her and watched her warily.

"Tell me how you feel about Finn. You tell me what you're feeling, and what you want. And if I hear you judging yourself, or rationalizing, you'll go straight back over my knee, because if you judge yourself, we're not done with the quirt yet. And _look_ at me while you're talking."

He touched the page with one hand. "I... I admire him. I have such respect for him, as a young man, and as the young Top he's becoming. He's a tremendous person." He couldn't hide his smile.

She sighed. "Oh, my slippery little eel. So you want to continue watching him on his journey?"

"Yes." His voice was soft. "Very much."

"And you want to continue participating in that journey?"

He shook his head regretfully. "I don't think that would be very responsible of me."

Her hard hand smacked his backside thoroughly. "What did I say about judging? That was a yes or no question, young man."

"All - all right! Yes. Yes, I do."

"And there we are. Will it hurt _you_ to not watch, to not participate?"

He flinched away as though she'd struck him again. "Yes," he whispered.

"All right, baby," she said, kissing his forehead. "All right. We can work with that. Would you like to know something?"

"What?"

"I had this same conversation in 1992 with Beau, over you. Except I didn't get my bottom striped, you stubborn molecule. We can work with this, honey. You don't have to give him up. You either exercise self control - and I can spend the week with you reminding you just what that is," she said snappily, "or you move forward."

"Tess," he said, shaking his head. "I was _twenty-seven. _ Not to mention _single._ You can't tell me this isn't different."

"The parameters are different, young man. But the conflict in my heart wasn't any different. We'll talk through this. Isn't that why you called me, Jesse? Surely you didn't think that I'd take a strap to you and forbid what you want to do?"

He laughed despite himself. "Maybe that's what I was hoping. It sure would make things simpler."

"Mmm. You know better. I might spank you for that, too. Now, are we going to talk through this, with less stubbornness, and more rational examination? Or are you calling Finn and laying down the law about boundaries?"

"I have to call him," he said, staring at the notebook.

"Yes, you do." She leaned across the bed to open the drawer, pulling out a cordless phone, and then handed his cell phone back to him. "Boundaries," she suggested.

Carl nodded, accepting both phones, and called up Finn's phone number in his address book before dialing it on the handset of the cordless. He took a breath in, then let it out slowly, trying to gather his self-control and put on the right amount of authority. _You have to do this,_ he thought.

He heard the call being answered. "Hello?" said Finn's eager voice. Carl didn't want to dwell on what that one word, spoken in that voice, made him feel inside.

"Finn," he said, as steadily as he could - until Finn's next word undid him completely.

"Sir."

Tess sighed as his face went white. He put a hand over the mouthpiece and took a gasping breath.

"You can do this," she murmured. "Or else." She laid the quirt in front of him. "Boundaries."

He steeled himself and took his hand away. "I don't think that's appropriate, Finn."

"I'm sorry... but I'm not sure how to be anything except honest with you," Finn said, all in a rush. He sounded as desperate as Carl felt. "I just spent the evening listening to Kurt talking to Puck about his new Top, Adam Lambert, and yes, it's _that _Adam Lambert... and then I told my mother about you. And Kurt." He took a breath. "I told them I'm in love with you."

For a spare second, Carl didn't understand Finn's words. It was almost as though he were speaking another language. And then everything _shifted,_ and Carl's world realigned all at once. He went from living in a world in which he was Finn's mentor, and Finn was the young Top of two equally young subs - directly into a parallel world, one in which his feelings for Finn far exceeded those of a mentor... and Finn?

Finn was _his boy._

"Finn," he said, and there was no way he couldn't let some of his new awareness creep into that word.

Tess hand on his shoulder shifted, too; instead of bracing him up, holding him steady, helping to keep him balanced, her arm slid around him to hug him in close, still just as steadying, but he could feel the empathy in her touch, her acceptance of how he acknowledged his own needs.

"I know it's impossible," Finn went on, heedless. "I know it's a bad idea in so many ways. But that doesn't stop how I'm feeling, and what I - what I need - from you. From _you,_ sir, so don't tell me I could get it from someone else."

Carl knew exactly what he meant. There was no substitute for the word _sir_ from Finn - something he hadn't even realized he'd wanted, until - well, until just now. And now... there was no way he was going to handle not hearing it again.

"No," he promised him. "I won't tell you that."

"Are you going to tell me no, sir?" Finn said, sounding resolute. "Because I think I need to hear it now, if it's going to be no."

Carl smiled, feeling admiration wash over him. _He's handling this a hell of a lot better than I am._ He resisted a chuckle. For a moment he forgot entirely what he was going to say in the face of his giddy feelings and the sound of the word _sir,_ ringing in his ears.

"No," he said.

There was a pause. Then Finn cleared his throat. "Uh," he said. "Excuse me, sir, but... was that no, we're not going to, or no, I'm not going to tell you no?"

Then Carl _did _chuckle, because there was no fighting against Finn's unique style of forthright speaking. And he knew. _I can't tell him no._

"Maybe," he heard himself say. "It's maybe."

Tess kissed his temple softly, hand still surrounding him, and loving him the way she always had, those firm hands ready for anything that happened.

"Maybe," Finn breathed, like he'd been given a gift. "Maybe. I can live with maybe, sir."

"All right, Finn." Carl felt himself settling into familiar territory, speaking to his boy with calm authority. It had been a long time, but he'd been there before. "You should get some sleep."

"Doubtful, sir," he said. Carl could hear a smile on his face. _Cheeky brat,_ he thought with some astonishment.

"Well, close your eyes and pretend, at least," he suggested, feeling an odd quiver from Tess.

Finn's next question was _definitely_ said with a grin. "Can I think about you?"

"Finn," Carl said, with as much steel as he could muster. He heard him whimper, and felt a flush of pleasure. "Sleep."

"Yes, sir," Finn whispered, and it was sweet, _god_, and so perfect. He felt more things settle inside him, and when he took another breath, his shoulders dropped, and he could breathe easily.

"Good night, Finn," he said into the phone.

"Thank you, sir," Finn said. But he didn't hang up. Carl could hear his shaky breathing, in and out, for several long minutes. He thought he might need to tell him to go to bed again, but Tess took the phone from his hand, raising an eyebrow, and disconnected the call when he nodded.

"Tess..." he whispered. He knew his face was giving everything away. He'd never been able to hide anything from her, even if he'd wanted to.

She laughed. "Well, my boy. You gave up your choice. You _will_ be discussing this with me, in depth, in detail, and if you ever want to be able to sit again, less attitude and reluctance than you've given me so far."

"Yes, ma'am," he said. He didn't care. Everything was _good._ He gave her a wide smile.

"Now, do you need another bedtime spanking, or are you warm enough behind to just lay down here with me, and get some sleep?"

He laughed, tucking himself into the space beside her in her wide bed. "Well, at least I can close my eyes and pretend."

He felt the gentle kiss to his temple. "See that you do," she said sternly, and flicked the switch on the lamp, plunging the room back into velvety darkness.

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday<strong>

Carl was a little surprised to see Davis dressed in unfamiliar clothes when he joined him for brunch late Sunday morning. "I guess I don't need to ask how things are going for _you,"_ he said, both eyebrows reaching celestial heights on his forehead.

Davis actually _blushed, _which made Carl pause and look more carefully at him. His breathing was uneven, his pulse rapid on his neck, and he looked unsteady. "You're not sick, are you?"

"No," said Davis, and smiled, casting a pleased glance at his plate. "I feel entirely too good to be sick."

"That could be the endorphins," Carl said doubtfully, taking a bite of salmon. He stopped mid-chew when he realized what was going on. "You're in _love,"_ he accused.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Davis replied airily, helping himself to a raisin scone.

"You are!" Carl insisted. "Holy shit, Davis, what the hell happened last night? Last I heard you and James were going _dancing,_ and now - look at you. You're practically floating."

"Pot, kettle," Davis pointed out, and Carl scowled as he felt the blush overtake his neck and cheeks. He smirked at him, leaning on his elbow thoughtfully. "I'd say your night didn't go quite as well as mine, but - you look better. Tess gave you a good spanking, hmmm?"

"None of your business," he snapped. "I was talking about _you."_

"Well." Davis' smile spread slowly over his entire face, and Carl realized the depth of his friend's feelings.

"Wow," he breathed. "You're completely _gone._"

"I really am," Davis agreed, sounding more excited than he had in years, leaning forward in his eagerness. "God, Carl, I feel like I'm eighteen again. You remember how I was. Like a kid in a candy store? This is a hundred times better than that. Jesus, it's like this man was _made_ for me."

Carl felt a twinge of concern. "He's - feeling the same way?"

"Seems like," Davis said offhandedly, biting into the scone.

"I want to talk to him," Carl said firmly.

Davis nodded. "I'm sure he'd be happy to talk to you."

"Good." He hesitated. _What the hell. _"And yes, I got a spanking. And then some. But I know what I'm about, now."

"Yeah?" Davis raised an eyebrow. "Tell me more."

He felt the hope of last night, the words _yes, sir_ spoken by Finn - by _Finn, _for _him. _"I hope you don't disapprove," he said. "I want this, with Finn."

Davis nodded slowly. "Sounds like you've thought it through, then? Tess help you with that?"

"Yeah," Carl agreed. "Mostly. She's a devil." He shook his head. "She mostly made me figure it out, and let me lean on her when I needed, and got out that damn quirt when I dug my feet in."

"She gave you just what you needed," Davis said, nodding approvingly, taking another bite of scone.

"Yes," Carl said softly. "It's why I love her."

Davis nodded, reaching across the table for his hand. "She loves you, too, you know."

"Yes," Carl said. "I know." He gripped Davis' hand tightly, and felt a nearly overwhelming burst of affection for him. "I love you, Davis."

"Honey," he said, with a smile. "I love you, too. Always. This - this with Finn. You're sure he wants it?"

Carl gave his old friend the length of consideration the question deserved, looking over the issue from the safety of Davis' company. "Yes. That young man knows what he's about, too, Davis. He wants it. I'll go carefully."

"You'll need to," Davis said soberly. "But - yeah. I talked to him yesterday. He's not much of a kid, not anymore. Got a good head on his shoulders, and thinks about things. I think you're well matched." He smirked, reaching for the butter. "Now we just need to throw the two of you into a room and lock the door for a few days."

"Jesus," he moaned. "James must not have spanked you hard enough, brat." It was an empty threat.

Davis laughed, free and comfortable. "He did a pretty damn good job of it."

"Maybe I should check," Carl teased, shaking his head.

Davis munched his scone with smug satisfaction. "Sorry. My ass is spoken for."

"You _are _a brat, aren't you," Carl laughed. "Maybe I should be coaxing you into comparing stripes, instead, so I can check on you despite your stubborn baloney, Davis."

"I'm sure you'll see it eventually," he said casually. "Or another set of stripes like it. Somehow, he and I... I think we might be spending... more time together. A lot of time."

"How so," Carl asked, amused. Davis didn't respond for a moment, and Carl reached out for his hand again. "What's going on?"

"He's really incredible, honey," he said. "I think I'm going to be coming down here a lot. As often as I can. But..." Davis shrugged, looking faintly unhappy. "Lima's hours away from here. James and I both have critical, professional careers that are time consuming."

"I'm sure you'll find a way to make it work," Carl said encouragingly.

Davis nodded, unconvinced. "And Finn's still in school - that's limited time with them for both of us. And I love you, you still know how to make me feel better, even if we're not partners outside of the businesses."

"Davis," Carl said firmly. "You'll always be my partner. And I will never stop loving you, just the way Tess has never stopped loving me. Sometimes we've got rocky road in front of us, but I'm right here for you - and I'm depending on you to keep me from blasting off into the outer realms of idiocy, like you stopped me from going to Ruth Puckerman's funeral. Got it?

Davis shook his head in amusement. "It's a frightening day when you're depending on _me_ for rational decision-making, honey. But I'll do my best."

"I think I like it," Carl decided. "And you're smirking, so I know you like it too, you brat."

He tugged Davis to a standing position and put his arms around him. "I'm really happy for you," he said, leaning into the taller man's arms.

"Likewise," Davis agreed. "Merry Christmas, huh?"

* * *

><p>"All right," Tess said, to Carl's questioning glance. "I think I've given you enough time to think this through. Shall we look at your list?"<p>

"I'm ready." He opened the notebook with calm certainty.

1. _age difference__2. power difference between mentor/student  
><em>_3. school - secrecy, issues about teachers, responsibilities therein  
><em>_4. issues with existing partners - Kurt, Puck - other lovers?  
><em>_5. conflict of interest between myself and other clients - seeing a client socially  
><em>_6. parents - maintaining healthy relationship, dealing with honesty  
><em>_7. subtlety in public, per societal mores  
><em>_8. impact on Davis' life  
><em>_9. seriousness of the relationship from both partners' POV - just a crush? loneliness? needing a friend?  
><em>_10. potential damage to career  
><em>_11. impact on both businesses  
><em>_12. living in Lima  
><em>_13. relationship with R.  
><em>_14. impact on reputation in BDSM community  
><em>_15. Bebe's perspective - will this affect her willingness to stay in R's life?  
><em>_16. legal ramifications - ask Davis, Tess' lawyers  
><em>_17. sexual boundaries - what's acceptable? fluid exchange, rules, any condom compact with partners? the continuum of penetrative sex - when is old enough/mature enough to consent?  
><em>_18. STD testing - last test in October, abstain after  
><em>_19. asking permission from Kurt - and Puck?_

"I know it's not going to be any _easier,"_ he said, gazing at the list, "but it suddenly feels a whole lot _simpler."_

"Good," she said. "That's an excellent start." Her chin rested in her hand. "Tell me what your own two greatest strengths are."

He thought about it. He didn't consider himself to be particularly humble, but he liked to think he was reasonably astute at deducing his own mental and emotional state. "I have good instincts," he said, "about what my clients need. I can usually figure it out, pick it up from listening to them and hearing them talk about themselves, watching their body language." He considered further. "I'm... I have a large toolbox, let's say. Plenty of experience to draw on." He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Thanks to my teachers."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, you dreadful brat. Now. Here's a red pen. You are to cross out that first line that got you spanked last night. You will write instead, _You have good instincts, Carl. Trust your experience._"

He took the good heavy pen and made a firm line through the writing, replacing it with the words she'd said. "All right," he said.

"Good. Now, take that pen, and I want you to put a red circle around anything that is a _fact_ - and facts don't have emotions, if you recall."

Carl circled #1 _(30 year age difference), _#2 (_power difference between mentor/student) _and _#5 (conflict of interest between myself and other clients - seeing a client socially). _After a moment he added #18 (_STD testing - last test in October, abstain after)._ "The rest are mostly matters to contend with, but they're not necessarily going to be problems," he said.

"We'll address those first, then. I assume that the age difference isn't a dealbreaker anymore? The second one, the power difference. How do you manage that?"

"Some of that power differential is inherent in our generational gap," he said, "but the rest can be eliminated by ceasing our professional relationship." He paused, and said unhappily, "I don't think I should see Puck as a client anymore, or Kurt, though he'd not come to see me anyway."

Tess sat back, thoughtfully. "I think your professional relationship with Finn will come inside your personal relationship. It was that way with you, love."

He nodded. "That makes sense. I'm thinking, also, about the financial compensation. I'll need to refund his money, or a portion of it, and any compensation for services rendered will just have to stand."

"Good boy," she told him. "I think you should be careful to develop a relationship with Puck, and Kurt, that is platonic, and non-professional, so that they understand they can come to you with concerns about Finn if they need. I find myself thinking that Puck's needs, professionally speaking, will be met by this young Top he's met, so I think you are safe there."

He nodded again, more slowly. "That makes sense, too." Carl's eyebrow went up. "Puck's new Top... is this who Finn mentioned - Adam someone? Should I know who that is?"

"I'll educate you later," she said dryly. "Welcome to your age gap." She paused thoughtfully. "You might ask Beau for advice there. He's used to it. Now, I have some concerns about Kurt. You don't know that he wouldn't have come to you, honey. He's a thinker, and he takes his time. If you're willing, though, I might have a conversation with him, and encourage him to come directly to me. He's going to feel left out, I think, and he's going to need someone to talk to."

"I hadn't felt a great amount of trust from him to begin with," Carl said wryly. "After what happened with Puck, I think he was pretty upset with me. No wonder. In any case, I'm sure he'll appreciate being able to talk to you."

"All right, darling. And I'm certain you'll come to me if you need as well. I need you to remember that this is going to be different, love. He's a teenager, still - mistakes are going to happen."

"Tess, I'm forty-six, and I still make mistakes all the time," he said with a grin. "I actually think Finn is handling this all remarkably admirably."

"Your mistakes are the ones I'm referring to," she said sweetly.

He swallowed. "Ah," he said. "Well. Yes." He chuckled, feeling himself flush.

"I promise I'll double anything you get, if you wallow over it, too."

"No - no, I think I'm done with that," he said, holding up both hands and laughing. "Moving on."

"Excellent. Now. I think that #5 is not such an issue, my love. You've just explained that you're ending the professional relationship. That's quite standard in the community. Thoughts?"

He considered it. "I think I'll have to be very explicit with him about how things might be different now. He won't have access to me in the same way while I'm working, though I suppose my office might be one of the only safe places we'll have to meet." He picked up the pen again.

"Go ahead and make notes for yourself, love. This is important. Is there a day where you don't tend to see clients?"

"Fridays I'm just in the clinic in the morning. I could -" He felt a sudden blooming of heat in his chest. "Do you think I could - have him over to my house?" _A date,_ he thought crazily, and swallowed back the hysterical laugh that threatened to erupt.

She smiled. "I would expect so. We'll talk more about those details later, Jesse. Now, take a deep breath for me, please."

He closed his eyes and breathed, in and out, feeling her hands on his shoulders, pressing down, calling attention to his tension more than doing anything directly about it. Another breath, in and out. "Am I really doing this?" he murmured, keeping his eyes closed, afraid of the answer.

"It rather looks like it to me, you silly boy," she told him, and he felt her finger tap his nose firmly. "Are you going to focus, or is that opening the door to a flood of unnecessary emotional diatribe?"

"No... no." He chuckled and opened his eyes. "I'm... um. I'm happy? Or at least... I think I might be."

"For mercy's sake, Jesse. If you feel happy, enjoy it, and don't try to mentally shred it trying to figure out why. Do you need to stand up so I can swat you? Next. Standard STD testing. I would expect nothing less from you - but we're getting into a complex situation here. Would you like my advice?"

"I have it done every two months," he said, "so I'm pretty set there. What do you recommend?"

"I believe," she said, tapping her finger on her bottom lip, "that this is going to be a... family... discussion, for lack of a better term. I think you should sit all three of them down, and get Adam, and anyone else sexually involved in this miniature madhouse on the phone, and all agree to that testing being done on that same eight week basis. _And -_ you all get on the same page with who is expected to use condoms and when, and what for. If you want me on the call I'm willing, but I'm not going to referee."

"God." He nodded, thinking. "Yes. I remember this now. When Davis and Bebe and I were starting our relationship - remember, that was right in the middle of the AIDS epidemic - everybody had a condom compact. We'll have to figure that out. But for now - I just assume condoms for everybody. And minimal fluids, um. Consumed."

Tess rolled her eyes at him. "It doesn't matter how minimal the fluids are, you fool. Do I need to put you in front of a microbiology review and be paddling for incorrect answers?"

Carl laughed out loud. "You're the nurse, Tess. I just drill teeth for a living." He shook his head, still amused. "I know what's safe behavior and what's risky. I'm not going to put anybody - _anybody -_ at risk. Trust me."

"Jesse. Listen very carefully to me. Do you remember me telling you about one of my boys, the one who died from Hepatitis E?"

"Of course, Tess. It was a terrible tragedy."

"Jesse, that boy was a virgin. He wasn't interested in sex. He died because he brushed his teeth down in Costa Rica, and neglected to use bottled water. I'm not sure if you were aware of that. We very carefully went over with him his actions, and that is the only mistake he made - which cost him his life. If he can contract Hep E from a toothbrush worth of water... do you see my point? I may need to be giving this lecture to the lot of you, at which point you'll hush and support me."

"Testing, condoms and minimal fluid exchange, Tess," he said firmly. "I understand what's reasonable here. You can bet I'll enforce safer sex practices at every turn, too."

She smiled at him, a little wanly. "You I trust. The teenagers aren't as grounded in reality. Let me help you with this."

"I'd appreciate your_ rational _support," he said. He could feel his own hackles rising at her assumptions about Finn's behavior, and he had to laugh at himself. _You're treating him like he's your boy already. Maybe, my ass. You're firmly in the realm of yes. _ He sighed. "I'm sorry, Tess. You're right, of course. We've all made mistakes - plenty of them, I'm sad to say. We can only do our best."

"It's all right. I'm just thinking of the baby, I suppose." She touched his notebook with one manicured finger. "What's your biggest concern left on the list, love?"

"I'm going to have to be careful about the professional issues. Davis already caught me trying to rationalize attending Puck's mother's funeral." He held up a hand at her outraged look. "I know, I know. I plead insanity, or at least... at least partial insanity." He could feel his blush starting again and tried to focus. "My biggest concern is the impact this could have on others. Kurt and Puck... Finn's family, his friendships - we're not going to be able to be open with this in Lima, and I already know he hates keeping secrets. And then there's Bebe. She's already grumbling at me about being so close to Rachel."

Tess' eyes snapped. "She's your _daughter_. Of course you're going to be close. She's a fool to think otherwise."

He shook his head. "The agreement was that we'd stay out of Leroy and Hiram's way. _They're _her parents. It's okay - I've accepted it, and Bebe never wanted to be her mother. But I can tell she's dealing with it poorly now. She wants to have more kids... and she's not young anymore. It's hard on her." _And on me,_ he didn't say, but it was an old argument, and Tess knew it.

Tess sighed. "Honey, picture this two years from now, when Rachel knows you're her father, and you and Finn are still together. How do you feel, thinking about discussing that relationship with her? Because it will happen, Jesse."

Carl rested his head in both hands. "It's a little beyond me right now, Tess," he said, hearing his voice growing unsteady. "I've got two more years, until she's eighteen, to think about that."

She sighed patiently. "Perhaps you should think about talking to Finn about how to frame your relationship to his friends and teachers. He likes to be up front, but perhaps he could be convinced that the sexual part of a relationship belongs inside of the bedroom, and nowhere else."

"I honestly don't think we're going to be able to handle it any other way," he says, "at least not until he's older. Assuming things go well." He felt that amazed, wondering smile reappear on his lips, and the ringing of Finn's _sir_ in his ears.

"You know, love," she said, eyes distant. "Do you recall what I told you, all those years ago, about what makes a solid relationship? That it requires three things. Mutual love, sexual compatibility, and _friendship_. Perhaps Finn might be convinced to lean on that leg of the tripod when he speaks of you to others."

Carl nodded. "It's been the most important part of any of my relationships, any of the ones that have lasted. And the ones that haven't... I can't say Bebe and I are particularly good friends, anymore." He didn't like to dwell on that chapter of his past.

She reached out and took his hand in hers. "I think, too, Jesse, that you need to sit him down with this list, or a copy of it at any rate, and impress upon him some of the items that are critical to you - how he might affect you, in his choices, whether it suits his sense of fairness or not."

"All right." He tapped the list. "The last significant issue I see is Finn's relationship with his mother. I don't feel good about asking him to lie, at all, but this is a tricky one. Do you know her? He said... he said he told her. About me, and how he... felt about me."

Tess snorted. "It's not the last issue, but we'll leave it there, after we address this one. All right. So Carole knows you exist, and that Finn feels strongly about you. That's one complication out the window - you don't have to debate about hiding it, it's out of the closet." She glared at him. "And if you ask him to lie, I'll take the skin off your backside with a singletail, bit by bit. Honestly. You know better, Carl Jesse."

"Tess, I don't mean that kind of a lie, he protested. "I'm talking about the subtlety necessary in this kind of relationship - I mean, don't tell me that his mother knows about Finn's involvement in the scene?"

She shook her head. "Jesse, the first time he falls asleep in a pair of thin boxer shorts, and she goes into his room to pull his covers back up over him when she gets up to check the house over, she's going to know, if she doesn't already. And I guarantee you that she'll know as soon as Burt does - and Kurt is _not _going to be able to gloss that one over with that man much longer."

Carl thought about his own parents. They still had no awareness of what he did for a living, apart from his career in dentistry. _If they knew... _"I don't want Finn to jeopardize his relationship with his mother for... for this," he said. _For me._

Tess smiled. "I don't think he will, lovey. Those two are very close, she's very astute. I'll bet you that she's already noticed a difference in his behaviour, and she's probably watching very carefully to figure out why. Let me guess. In the last two months, Finn's taken on more responsibility. He's been more polite. He's been more respectful. He's been more grounded. He's paid more attention to his homework. I'm aware of countless "parents find out" stories, love. There's a whole spectrum of responses. I don't think you're validated to dwell on your worst fears here. Carole - and Burt, for that matter - are good, open minded, reasoning individuals, who love their children more than anything. They've got big hearts. Would you like my ultimate example?" He nodded.

She leaned forward, her grey eyes crinkling at the corners. "Perhaps you might remember who taught me how to Top, and who my business partner is, where Tessera is concerned? I wasn't kinky, or experienced when Beau adopted me, love. That came later. He adopted me..." Tess sighed, looking distant. "He adopted me six months after a very messy and terrible divorce, he straightened me out when I nearly deep sixed my own military career in the middle of the divorce proceedings."

Carl's eyes grew round. Tess seldom talked about her own history. "That must have been incredibly stressful."

She nodded, a muscle in her jaw twitching. "Yes. And when it turned out that I was interested in the scene, he supported me, and there were a number of long talks - hours, honey. He had to get up and leave the room and go pace in his study for a while sometimes while he coped, but he always listened."

Carl sighed. "Well. That's not a hurdle we need to jump over, at least. Finn - he's already comfortably involved in the scene. He's taken on care of two boys... that I know of. I do think this issue with Puck will heal in time. But as far as I know, this is the first time - I mean, even to _me_... that he's expressed any desire to be Topped." He shook his head. "To say it was a surprise would be an understatement."

She shrugged. "I've seen it before. There are all sorts of exciting surprises out there, love. I didn't suffer through that with you - you were practically screaming from the rooftops that you needed a spanking."

"But what ramifications does that have for him with his boys? I know it gives Davis the screaming heebie-jeebies when I talk about somebody Topping me. Yes, even you, Tess." He sighed. "I'm guessing Kurt and Puck might need some support around that."

"Doesn't that make you the best person for him to talk that over with?" Her expression was fierce. "I am always available to those boys. Does it bother you that Beau disciplines me - rarely, but still to this day?"

He shook his head. "That's never bothered me - but I'm a comfortable switch. I think it's just going to have to be something we pay attention to."

"Now there's my Jesse. Very reasonable." She sighed. "I think we should slip down to the kitchen for a snack, and talk about something less heavy for a while. I suspect that you could do with a nap, Mr. Angsting Over Lists at Three-Thirty in the Morning."

"Hey, I fell asleep earlier than _that,_" he said, waving a hand at her. "I suspect Davis and James got far less sleep than _I_ did. You should have heard him going on about James this morning. It's really something else."

"Davis and James are consenting adults," she told him.

Carl raised an eyebrow at her. "That sounds ominous. You're the one who's encouraging me to follow my heart into this relationship - and now you're telling me you don't think he's a consenting adult?" He smirked. "Or maybe you're implying _I'm_ not a consenting adult, hmmm? I'm the one making all those _mistakes,_ after all."

"Stand up," she barked. He rose to his feet with alacrity and took one step away from the table. She was there in a heartbeat, strong hand wrapped around his bicep, bending him forward, and - _damn, too far, _he thought, hearing the sound of her trigger snap releasing that bloody quirt. "How many were you asking for there, dear? I counted, hmmm...three snotty statements, and then there's that _smirk_, too. That looks remarkably like a dozen, doesn't it?"

With grim determination, he counted to twelve as her quirt laid stripes on top of already sore skin. "I deserved it," he gasped, wincing as he laid a hand on his hip. "And I suspect I'm going to need some of that magical cream you use."

"We'll see," she said calmly. "Unless you'd like to drop your pants for me to take a look right here. May I continue?"

"Be my guest," he said, leaning against the wall instead of resuming his seat in the chair. _Not nearly enough padding,_ he thought, wincing again.

"Be seated then," she told him, waiting until he flinched his way back into the chair. "Now then. I hadn't intended to imply anything about your maturity, or Finn's, simply that it's Davis' choice, just as it is James' as to what they get involved in together. But now that you've reminded me, Finn _is_ a teenager. With a set of raging teenage hormones. Consider yourself and your drive at that age, please. Is he a virgin, still? He's topping those boys, not switching with them."

"We haven't gotten into specifics," Carl said, his imagination stirring up far too many images for his own good. "But that'll be a question we'll have to answer. I don't even know if he wants sex with me. Not all men care for that."

"You've said he's got a good head on his shoulders. Talk about consent before you're sweating and breathless with both pairs of hands exploring new continents. And tell me you're prepared to drive, where sex is concerned, and that you're not going to let him rush headlong into it."

"I promise," he said gravely. "I wouldn't want to go anywhere before he's good and ready for it. We've got time to think about these things."

"That's what I like to hear," she said mildly. "Call if you'd like a cockblock. Shall we go along upstairs?"

* * *

><p><strong>Monday<strong>

"You look tired this morning, Tess," Carl said, tucking the rest of his things neatly into his rolling Pullman and closing the zipper. "Are you feeling all right?"

"No, love, I'm not. I need your help, please," she said, entirely forthright and direct.

Carl paused and looked at her carefully. "Anything," he said. "Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine," she told him absently. "Puck is here, lovey. And I owe you an apology for not continuing our conversation as we intended, last night."

"What? He's - he's here?" Carl sank down slowly on the edge of the bed. "Don't worry about that, Tess. What happened?"

Tess smiled faintly at him. "I see you comprehend how I'm feeling, somewhat. All right. Jesse, love. Did you know that Puck doesn't have anyone, now that his mother is gone?" He eyes were luminous with unshed tears.

Carl nodded. "He has Kurt. Doesn't he? They're still together, right?"

"No, little love. That's not what I mean. His father is - gone. They don't know where. He's only sixteen, and he doesn't have a home -" she sounded broken to him, and he gently clasped her arms, pulling her in close.

"It's all right," he murmured, rubbing slow circles on her back, brushing her hair away from her face. "You're okay. I've got you."

"Oh Jesse," she said, voice racked with emotion. "I know what that feels like, Jesse- I left home at sixteen, I was on my own, I don't want that for him, he's such a dear boy-"

"It's _not_ like that," he said firmly. "He has his loves - and this new one, Adam? And I know Finn's mother and Kurt's father care deeply for him. He'll be all right."

She shook her head, hard. "It doesn't matter - he's hurting and lost because he _doesn't have a home_, Jesse. He doesn't even know where he's sleeping, when he goes back to Lima - I at least had the dormitory, and my studies, when I left my mother and the bastard-"

"I know you had - wait a minute. The bastard?" He touched her cheek. "What happened, Tess?"

She looked at him, startled into speaking. "My foster mother put me on a bus on my sixteenth birthday - after taking the GRE in secret, and being accepted to a college out west - to keep her husband from beating me. She died my freshman year - he beat her into a coma -"

"Oh, Tess." He pulled her close again, hating this kind of anguish from anyone, but _especially_ from the strong woman who'd mentored him, who'd loved him.

She took a long, deep breath, stilling herself, and he marveled at the strength of her will. "I just don't like the thought of him having no place to go."

He thought quickly. "I have an apartment," he said, "the one next to the office. It's currently not being used. Do you think he could stay there? It wouldn't be much, but I could keep an eye on him."

"You do? Do you mean that? You'd be... willing?"

"Of course I would," he said, smiling. "I have a lot of affection for the boy. If you think he'd be willing, himself. I know we haven't had the best of connections, but I'll be his friend." _He's Finn's boy,_ he thought, _and I'd better make a fresh start with him, if I want things with Finn to be the best they can be._

"He's so proud," she faltered, "just as I was, at that age."

"Yes." He took her hand. "I'll help him, in any way I can. Don't worry - I'll take care of it. He won't be alone. I promise."

Her grey eyes lifted to his, clouded with tears in a way he'd never seen before. "I'm sorry, honey. I'm very tired, I-"

"Don't be silly," he chided. "You've taken care of me plenty of times. Let me return the favor, okay? You're just fine."

She dabbed at her eyes with a lace edged handkerchief. "We hadn't finished talking about what _you_ needed, dear heart, either. I..." She hesitated. "Perhaps you'll come back to me? You've said that Davis is staying -"

He nodded, holding her hand. "I could do that. Let me take a few days, get things settled with Puck, and then I'll come back down here. Would you like that?"

She smiled, though he could tell it was an effort. "I would, darling. This is very generous of you, little love."

"I'm not a haven for hundreds of weary travelers, like you are," he smiled, "but I'm glad I can do my part." He stroked her head gently. "You're exhausted. Won't you please go back to sleep? I'm heading out, and I'll call to check on you when I get home."

She didn't reply, just leaned into him a little harder than he was used to. He replied in kind, holding her tighter, but not asking for more words. They didn't need them, anyway.


	34. Chapter 34

_(Author's note: for those of you who were hoping for something besides talking, Puck's portion of this chapter continues in chapter 3 of Just Keep Coming Around. Puck's half of this chapter contains Adam Lambert. Enjoy - amy)_

* * *

><p>Burt almost had a fit when Puck said he wanted to drive back to the house on his own, but he convinced him to let Burt follow him home instead of making him climb into the cab of Burt's truck. "I'm not going to take off again," he insisted.<p>

"Forgive me if my trust is slow to come, Puckerman," he growled, and slammed Puck's driver's door for him. "Straight to my place, understood?"

Puck was glad he'd gotten gas in Elida. The expression on Burt's face told him he wasn't going to be letting him leave the house at all for the next several hours. Kurt was at Finn's tonight, with Carole, and Sarah was apparently staying at Frances' house - which was so weird, because they hadn't played at each other's houses since, like, they were six. Which left Burt at home alone. It suited Puck fine. He didn't know where he was staying, and he wasn't quite ready to see Kurt or Finn, even though he was aching for it at the same time. _One thing at a time,_ he told himself, and started his car.

Driving through Lima with the mantle of Adam around his shoulders, with Adam's ridiculously made-up face gazing out at him from the CD cover, and Adam's inexplicably beautiful voice in his ears (Aftermath, for about the twentieth fucking time, and it made him fucking tear up every time), Puck felt like a different person. He wasn't sure who'd be able to see it, or even if anyone would. But he could feel it inside himself. It wasn't exactly that he was a different shape or a different color or anything so obvious. It was more like the space inside him was different - the way he was, with himself.

_I like myself,_ he suddenly thought. He glanced into the rear-view mirror at himself, objectively checking out the dark circles under his eyes, the faint smile, the weight he'd lost. There was no way people _weren't_ going to be able to see, he decided. Then he grinned. He looked pretty happy, actually.

But driving through the streets of Lima made him feel wistful and melancholy and a whole bunch of other fucking obnoxious girl feelings, and if Burt hadn't been tailing him, he _totally_ would have driven to Finn's house and sat in the driveway playing Journey turned up loud and smoked a joint. As it was, he just thought about doing it. _Finn's probably having dinner with Kurt right now,_ he thought, feeling a twinge of loneliness. _Maybe they're clearing the table. Maybe they're watching a movie. Maybe they're bareback fucking on Finn's cowboy bedspread. _He groaned.

NC-17-rated versions of songs from _Annie_ notwithstanding, Puck wasn't interested in doing anything except getting the hell out of his truck, eating some of his Charlie Trotter leftovers warmed up in a _real oven_ instead of a fucking microwave for a change, and being horizontal on an entirely flat surface. He'd had enough of driving for a couple days. Next day, they could figure out what would happen with Kurt and Finn and Sarah and his daughter and _everybody._

Puck pulled his truck into the garage, and Burt pulled in right next to him. "Kurt's not coming home until tomorrow morning," he said. "The truck'll be fine in the garage. It's supposed to snow tonight."

"How's Kurt doing?" Puck asked as he followed Burt into the house. He was almost surprised _not _to have said this earlier. Burt gave him a measured look.

"He's been better," he said. "I notice you haven't asked about Sarah."

Puck thought about this as he hung up his coat. "I guess I thought she sounded pretty okay on the phone," he explained. "And... you said you would look after her."

"I can look after both my kids," Burt said gruffly. "That doesn't mean they don't need you."

Puck blinked. Burt silently held out a hand, and after a moment, Puck took it. He let Burt lead him up the stairs and into the kitchen, snapping on the light. Everything looked so ordinary: the dining room table, the kitchen island with its stools, the dishes piled in the sink. Puck went without thinking to the dishwasher and opened it, starting to load the dishes from the sink.

Burt didn't stop him until the sink was empty, and that felt good; it was an ordinary thing to do. Puck wanted to try more ordinary things and see how it was for New Puck to do them. This one, loading the dishwasher, felt about the same.

"I think you'd better sit down," Burt said. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Burt, you don't have to _get me _anything," Puck said. But Burt shook his head.

"A week and a half ago, I would have said for you to make yourself at home." He set the pot down on the stove with something of a loud bang. His eyes were reproachful. "But you were pretty clear this place wasn't home. So I guess you're back to being a guest. So... can I get you something to drink?"

Puck slowly sat down on a stool and watched Burt get the milk out of the fridge with a sinking realization: _He's hurt. You hurt him._ And there was another one hard on its heels: _He's just an ordinary guy, but he's totally Kurt's dad._ _You'd better get started at cleaning this up._

"I want to say I'm sorry," he said. "To everybody. To you, and Kurt, and Sarah. I know it really -"

"And Carole," Burt interjected. "Don't forget her. She's the one who's been stuck being Finn's keeper for the past nine days. He was a mess for a while." He dug around in the drawer and came up with a wooden spoon, the good one with the flat edge, that made stirring the warming milk so satisfying. It made Puck itch a little to get up and take a turn stirring, but he stayed where he was.

"I don't care if you apologize to Finn," Burt added. "He deserved a little time to stew."

"No, he didn't," Puck said. "I'm sorry to him, too, even if he doesn't want to see me."

"He does." Burt chuckled humorlessly. "Trust me, he does. You going to take him back, then?"

"Dude." Puck leaned forward and put his chin on the counter. "He's the one who broke up with _me."_ He kicked the edge of the stool with one restless foot. "I played a lot of music this week. Like, every chance I could. Most of it was about Finn. It started out with being all about how I didn't need him. What a crock of shit."

"Language," Burt said mildly. He gave Puck a measured look. "I thought you wanted to be your own person. Not need anybody. Wasn't that what this trip was about?"

"Maybe I thought it was. I was hoping I wouldn't. Need anybody, that is. It'd sure be a lot easier if I didn't. But... dude. I need _lots_ of people. And Finn... well, I guess I need him in a particular way..." Burt snorted, and Puck felt himself turning red. "Sorry. TMI to my boyfriend's dad."

"This whole damn house is TMI, kiddo," Burt said with feeling. "I don't think I can legitimately ask you to censor yourself. Wasn't this whole mess about _secrets?_ Let's just cut the bull, okay?"

"Okay," Puck agreed. "I mean, as much as I can. I don't think you want to hear everything."

Burt set down the spoon and turned to face Puck directly, leaning heavily on his arms. "I'm saying," he said, "I want... to hear... everything. Got it?"

"Uh." Puck shrank back a little. "Jeez. I really don't think -"

"Dammit, Puck," Burt barked, and slapped the counter, making Puck jump. "This isn't easy for me, either, all right? I'm kind of, just, a regular guy, you know? But here, I've got you flailing around on one end and Finn a pile of useless tears on the other, and _my son's_ in the middle of it. And there's stuff I don't understand, and it's pissing me off."

"I'm not _flailing,"_ Puck muttered, but he subsided when Burt glared at him.

"So... I'm asking. I know there's gonna be stuff I don't want to hear, but I'd rather _know_ it than _not know_ it, you got that?"

Puck nodded slowly. "I got it."

"All right." Burt sighed and went back to stirring the milk. "Let's start with this new guy. Adam. I got to say, I wasn't too impressed with that performance he gave on the tv."

Puck closed his eyes and gave a weak chuckle. "Me, neither. He _sucked._ And he knew it. We talked later that night and he said they pulled him off Good Morning America for the stunt he pulled with Tommy. His bass player."

"I guess I missed that. What'd he do?"

"Uh. He, uh, kissed him. On stage." Puck started taking the peel off an orange from the fruit basket. "It's just part of the show, but he got a lot of sh- uh, bad response for it."

"I can bet." Burt shook his head. "You musicians." He was quiet for a minute while he got two mugs out of the cupboard. His face was troubled. "You don't think this, with you, that's not just an act, though?"

"No," Puck said. "Not an act. It's... it's a big deal. I didn't mean for it to be."

Burt nodded. "This is the thing, Puck. I care about you, and I'm happy you're happy. I am. But this is beyond complicated. First thing I'm thinking about is my son. He's still crazy in love with you. And if you're set on replacing him with somebody new -"

"No!" Puck cried. "No, _fuck _no. Sorry. Burt - I'm still in love with Kurt." He leaned in, trying to show him exactly how much he meant it, just with his eyes. "I told him I think maybe I love him more than before. I've missed him - so much. God." He rested his head in his hands.

"All right, Puck." Burt's tone was soft. "I think I believe you on that one. It's still a little beyond me, the idea of being in love with more than one person, but I see how it is with Kurt and Finn - and Kurt and you. And I can't disbelieve my own eyes, can I?" He put a hand on Puck's arm, and that touch had never felt more welcome. Puck sighed and let himself relax a little. "So tell me about Adam. He won this American Idol business, huh?"

"No, he came in second," Puck said. "But I guess a lot of people wanted him to win. Because... I don't know, because he's really his own person. Like, he's really out there, just... expressing himself..."

"He's gayer than a lunch date between Elton John and George Michael," Burt said testily. "I'm sure nobody missed that. But more importantly, he's got a hell of a voice. I heard him. Even Kurt thinks he's fantastic, and... well, I guess now he could have a reason not to think that anymore. But he sat me down yesterday and showed me some things on Youtube. I was impressed."

Puck accepted the mug of steamed milk, feeling his face heating up before he even took a drink. "I kind of figured Kurt would know who he was. He's... they're alike in a lot of ways. But I didn't even know who he was. That's not why... I fell in love with him."

"Mmm." Burt set the pan in the sink and pulled up the stool across from Puck. "He's not a kid, though. He's a grown man."

"I've done stuff with grown men before, Burt," Puck said, watching him wince. "And grown women. You did ask for truth, right?"

"I did," he said. "So while we're on that one... how about being safe? I'm not sure you can be, not really, with so many people. How do I know you're not putting yourself at risk? What about Kurt?" Burt's face was getting steadily redder, but he kept talking. "You went down to Santa Fe to see... these three people. They going to show up on my doorstep too?"

"God, Burt," Puck muttered, but Burt wasn't letting up.

"No, you've got to answer this, before I let you near my son again. He's _sixteen,_ and I'll be damned if I'm going to let -"

"Burt," Puck said again, and Burt cut himself off, squeezing his eyes shut. And Puck _saw_, he saw all the pain and hurt and fear pass over Burt's face in one moment, everything he'd been dealing with, in his grown-up way. It passed just as quickly, but that one moment was enough.

He reached out and took Burt's hand. "I promise," he said, with great intention. "I promise, I won't put Kurt at risk. Or myself, or anybody else. We're being safe. I _promise."_

Burt listened, still hurt, still suspicious, but after a long pause, he nodded. "You've got to understand what kind of faith I'm putting in you here. I remember what it was like to be a teenager. Forethought wasn't top of my list. I'm going to have to assume you're some better kind of teenager than the one I was." He shook his head. "You think you can live up to that? I'd hate to tell you that you and Kurt can't do - whatever it is you do."

_I'd hate that, too,_ he thought, but he just nodded and said, "I think I can. I mean, I know how important it is. I love him too, Burt."

Burt relaxed a fraction, and Puck let his hand go. "Yeah. I know." He smiled. "I heard that song you wrote for him. That was a hell of a gift."

"He liked it, huh?" Puck smiled back, relieved. "I haven't done any songwriting before, not like that, but I guess I got inspired."

Burt took a sip of his milk. "You've got a gift, kiddo. I mean, I don't know music, but it sounded like the kind of thing I'd hear on the radio. Really, that was something else." He shook his head. "I'm pretty sure Finn hasn't heard it, though. Kurt... he kept it to himself."

"I left it for Kurt," he said. "I mean, I wrote it for both of them, but... I didn't think Finn would want to hear it. I didn't think... he would want me at all anymore."

Burt took another sip and cupped his mug in both hands, staring at the surface of the steaming liquid. "At the beginning... well, you heard Kurt talk about it. He didn't come out of his room. He found your dad's box of - what? Barry Manilow?"

"Neil Diamond," Puck said, affronted, but he saw Burt was teasing him. "Heh. Yeah? Did he listen to it?"

Burt snorted. "Didn't do anything _else_, for a while. Carole thought she was going to strangle him if he put it on repeat one more time. Eventually Kurt brought him some more music - Indigo Girls, I think. He listened to that one a million times too. He was as bad as Kurt is on his morose days, and I've seen plenty of those."

_Finn... listening to Neil Diamond and Indigo Girls. Fucking hell._ "Wow," he said, kind of amazed. "That was about me?"

"Yeah. Even after he came out of his room, he wasn't much better. But now... well." He set his mug down and made a waving gesture. "That's Finn's business. He can tell you what's going on now."

"Burt, are you sure he wants to talk to me? He didn't sound much like he did on the phone."

Burt nodded. "He's not my son, but I would guess he'll be glad to see you." He looked hard at Puck. "Last thing: Sarah."

"She's staying here," he said. "Is that still okay?"

"Puck," he said, shaking his head. "I'm adopting her."

Puck jerked back in his stool, nearly tipping over. "You're - what?"

"She said she wants that. Timothy's helping me find your dad so we can get him to relinquish parental rights. She needs a place to be, Puck. She can't be moving around all over the place. She's still a kid. I mean, in some ways, _you_ are, too. You're going to need a place to be." He held up both hands when Puck tried to interrupt. "I know, you said, this isn't your home. But you're not a grown man yet, and there's no law in Ohio that gives you the right to be an emancipated minor. You've got another few years before you can legally be on your own, no matter what Timothy did when he was your age."

He shook his head, feeling dazed. "But I don't think - you can't _adopt_ - I mean, wouldn't that be twelve kinds of illegal? Me and Kurt... uh, brothers?"

Burt gave a short laugh. "Yeah, I'm sure they would frown on that in social services. You've got some choices to make about that." He peered at Puck. "Did you know he came out to Glee club about you?"

"He _what?"_ It was a little too much for Puck. He pushed the stool out and paced to the sink and back. "You mean - they all know, about the three of us?"

"Just you and Kurt, I think," Burt corrected. "The whole school, I'm pretty sure. Kurt said there was a lot of talking, but nobody did anything more than talk. He sang a song for you, at a Glee practice. They both did."

"A song," said Puck, faintly. "For me?"

"You'll have to ask Kurt about the details. I don't think he's ready to talk to his old man about it yet." Burt looked faintly uncomfortable, which was strange considering how much _truth_ he'd been asking for. "You've missed a lot, Puck."

"I guess so." Puck walked again from the sink to the island. "I don't... I'm not really sure where to go from here."

"You want them to know you're home?" asked Burt. "Or you want to wait?"

Puck picked up his empty mug and turned it over in his hands. It said _World's Greatest Dad_ on it. "I really thought I couldn't wait another day to see Kurt," he said, "but... I'm not sure, now. I think I want to wait. Let me - let me figure out where I'm going to be staying. Give me a little time to settle in."

"That's fine, Puck." Burt walked to him and put a firm hand on his shoulder. "I'm not rushing you. We're the only ones at the house tonight. I don't know what time people will be back tomorrow, though. You'll need to clear out early if you don't want to be seen. And I'm not going to lie to Kurt or Carole or Sarah. They're going to find out you're here in town, whether you like it or not."

"I know," he said. "I totally want to see - everybody."

Burt's gaze sharpened as he watched him. "You okay, Puck?"

"I'm just a little overwhelmed," he murmured. He fumbled for the edge of the island, weaving a little, but caught himself before he could fall. "I'm all right. I'm just tired. All that driving."

"You need something to eat?" Burt said.

"I've got leftovers in my truck." Suddenly he wasn't sure if he could make it that far, though. He let Burt guide him to a dining room chair and sit him down. When he put a glass of water in his hand, he drank it without thinking.

"I'll get them for you," Burt said, already heading down the stairs. "Stay there, all right? I don't need a concussion to deal with on top of all of this."

Puck closed his eyes and waited for Burt to come back. He might have even drifted off to sleep for a few minutes, because by the time he opened them again, his Charlie Trotter leftovers were on the table next to him, along with the Adam Lambert CD. Burt was sitting watching him with a worried expression.

"So this is him, huh?" Burt said, tapping the CD case.

"Not his best picture," Puck mumbled, closing his eyes again. "He's a lot hotter in person."

He heard Burt laugh. "I'm going to have to trust you on that one. Can I warm up those leftovers for you?"

"Oven," he said. "Not the microwave. And... I have to call him. Can't go to sleep without... gotta call every night."

"Okay. Don't worry about it. I'll make the leftovers - why don't you lay down in the living room. I'll wake you up in a little while." Burt gave him a nudge out of the chair, and he managed to make it into the living room and sink down onto the buff-colored couch before falling asleep again.

At some point he felt Burt put a blanket on top of him, and he murmured thanks, rolling over and wrapping up in its warmth. _He's gonna be Sarah's dad,_ he thought randomly, and it was a comforting thought.

The light had changed by the time Burt shook him again. "Your food's getting cold," he said. "You're going to want to eat _something._"

The food smelled good, and he took the fork Burt shoved into his hand and used it to put a few morsels into his mouth until he woke up enough to be coherent. "What time is it?" he asked.

Burt pulled the blanket out of the way of his plate. "A little after ten. That's not too late, is it? He's on the west coast, right?"

"Yeah. I mean, no. He's in New York tonight." Puck shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I'm just supposed to call." He dug his phone out of his pocket and stabbed sleepily at the buttons until Adam's phone number showed up on the screen. "Secret number. Nobody's s'posed to know it."

"I bet." Burt sat watching him, but when he stood to go, Puck said, "You want to say hi?"

He slowly sat back down. "I don't think..." Then he sighed. "Sure. Why the hell not."

Puck waited through the four rings and was getting ready to leave a message when he heard the gabble of voices talking. "Hey," he heard Adam's smiling voice say, and the answering smile on his own face was automatic. "I wasn't sure if I'd hear from you again tonight."

"I'm at Kurt's house," he said, "but there's nobody here but me and Kurt's dad. Nobody else even knows I'm in town yet."

"Hmm. You don't want to see them? I thought you couldn't wait." The voices got louder and overwhelmed Adam's for a moment. "Just a second, honey. Let me find a quieter place to be."

Puck tried to come up with a rational explanation why he didn't want to see Kurt, but the more he thought about it, the less sense it made. By the time Adam said, "All right, now I can hear you better," he was completely stymied.

"Why the hell _don't_ I want to see them?" he burst out. Burt raised an eyebrow.

"Because you're exhausted. Because you're afraid of what they'll say. Because you're ashamed of what you did. It's okay to feel all those things."

"Okay," he said, and he must have sounded... _some_ way, because Burt's other eyebrow went up.

He heard Adam's soft sigh. "I wish I could be there to help you, honey."

"Me, too," he said. "Um... Kurt's dad. He'd like to say hello."

"Really." Adam sounded dubious. "Don't tell me he's a fan."

Puck grinned. "Maybe he wasn't before. He said you sounded good on your video clips, though." Burt rolled his eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh, which for some reason made Puck grin harder. "Really, though... I mean, he's been really good to me. Like a dad." He watched Burt's eyes soften. "And he's gonna adopt my sister Sarah."

"This is Kurt's father?" Now he sounded surprised. "Well... okay. I'll talk to him, if you want."

"Awesome," he said, though he could feel the anxiety creeping into his gut. "Here." He passed the phone to a startled Burt. "Before I lose my nerve," he muttered.

Burt took the phone gingerly, glancing at the display like it might hold some answers for him, and put it to his ear. "This is Burt," he said briskly. "Yeah." He hesitated, then laughed. "Yeah, me too. No, I can't say I have."

Suddenly Puck felt an intense yearning to see Sarah. He wondered if it would be totally weird if he showed up at Frances' house just to hug her goodnight.

"Yeah, he is," said Burt, looking at Puck with clear amusement. "We missed him a hell of a lot. We're glad to have him back home." Then he sobered, listening. "I... suspected that. You can bet we'll take good care of him." Puck felt a flush of pleasure at this. Then he saw Burt look startled. "Uh - sure, that'd be fine. It's 520 North Jefferson Street, Lima, Ohio. Yeah, OH. 45801. No problem. Nice talking to you, too... Adam. Here's Puck. Er, Noah."

Burt looked thoughtful as he passed the phone back to Puck. "He's sending you a Hanukkah present. And... something for Kurt."

"Cool," Puck said, smiling. "He's that kind of guy."

"Apparently," Burt murmured, on his way out of the room. "Thanks. I'll be in my study if you need anything."

"I think you impressed him," Puck said.

Adam exhaled. "That was a first for me. I've never talked to my lover's boyfriend's father before."

"Happy to provide another first." Puck yawned. "Dude. I just had a nap, and I still feel like I could sleep for a week."

"Honey... here's what you're going to do. Are you listening?"

"Yes, Adam." He struggled to sit up.

"You need to let Kurt you're home safe. He's been worried about you. Even if you're not going to see to him tonight - and I think you're too tired for that - at least call him, or text him, to tell him you're in town, and safe. He'll feel so much better. Can you do that?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Thank you, honey. Are you staying at Kurt's house tonight?"

"I don't think I can drive anywhere. I'm falling asleep on the couch." Puck yawned again and stood up, collecting his plate and fork and taking them into the kitchen.

"No, you're not. Go run yourself a bath, a nice hot one. And can you make your room really dark? No light from the windows, draw the curtains, like that?"

"Uh. I think so. It's in the basement. Not much in the way of windows." Burt looked up as he poked his head into his study off the kitchen. "Going to bed," he said.

"All right." Burt rose halfway from his seat, then paused and slowly sat back down, watching Puck. "Goodnight."

"Noah," Adam said quietly. "Come on. Give him a hug. He just talked to _me_ on the phone because you asked him to. You can at least give him that."

Puck took a few steps into the room, and cleared his throat. "Uh. Thanks for... everything."

Burt rose again, and muttered, "C'mere," and they stumbled awkwardly into an embrace.

"Been a long time since I had a dad hug me good night," he said. Burt flushed.

"Me, too," he said. "My dad died when I was twenty-three. Sleep well - we'll talk more in the morning."

* * *

><p>Finn had been overly attentive all night. He'd made conversation with Kurt about caroling tomorrow night with Glee, and what seemed to be going on between Artie and Tina. He'd cleared the table after dinner and willingly sung along to Lady Gaga when Kurt put it on. When Finn brought the tray of cookies and milk to the coffee table after dinner, though, Kurt sighed and touched his hand.<p>

"You don't have to do this," he said.

"What?" said Finn, staring guiltily at the floor.

"This. You don't have to be so _nice._ It's really okay – this thing. With… with Carl." He glanced into the dining room at Carole. Finn switched his gaze to his hands. "Really," he insisted.

"I know it's _not,_ Kurt," he said quietly. "But I guess it'll be okay eventually. I mean, no matter what happens… I love you. I still love you, like this. I just don't want you to think I'm taking you for granted. What you give me – I can't get that from anybody else."

"I know, Finn," Kurt said patiently. "You're trying too hard. You don't have to do that. I don't love you any less just because…" He made a dismissive whirling motion. "All right?"

"All right," Finn sighed, and accepted his kiss. He was restless, and anxious, and it was just a little weird to see that familiar behavior in Finn.

"You don't…" Kurt began, then paused.

"What, baby?" Finn asked quietly.

"You don't want me to spank you, do you?" Kurt said, wrinkling his nose. Finn stared at him, then began to laugh.

"Holy shit, Kurt," he said, shaking his head. "That's – um. That's really _nice_ of you. I mean, I know exactly what you – Jesus." His eyes twinkled. Then he grabbed Kurt's face and kissed him. Kurt laughed into his mouth, and it felt so good to be cradled and caressed by him. And Finn did relax somewhat. _Humor works, to some degree,_ Kurt thought, pleased with himself.

"I know what you're trying to do," Finn said. "I can't believe I'm saying that. But I do. It's exactly what I would do for you if you were feeling like this. And – I know you _would_, and hell, it might even work. You're so fucking awesome, I think you could probably Top me just fine." He shook his head again, still laughing. "But it's not what I want from _you_. Does that make sense?"

"Yes," Kurt said, nodding. "I know exactly what you mean. Noah – he could do that for me. Top me?" Kurt looked up at Finn, who nodded. "Yes. He did, that one time, remember? It was – well. Exactly what I needed. But mostly – even though he _could_ – I don't want that from him." Kurt managed to think about Noah with much less pain now, because he'd said he would be home by Christmas, and that wasn't all that long to wait, after all.

"Do you want it from me?" Finn asked. Kurt looked to see if he was teasing, but he didn't appear to be, so Kurt tried to answer as honestly as possible, with such an honest question before him.

"Almost all the time," he said, gazing into Finn's eyes. "Even when we're not – like you and Noah did it, with the… the _sir_ and everything. I feel like – I want that from you. It makes me… " He had to pause and catch his breath, because even just _talking_ about it with Finn was enough to give him heart palpitations. "It makes me feel complete," he said, resting his head on Finn's chest. "The way you hold me… the way we fit together… it always _feels_ like that, even when we're not trying."

"I know just what you mean, baby," he said. He stroked Kurt's head, and relaxed at the sigh of contentment that escaped Kurt's lips.

"And when you… when you do what you did, the other night," Kurt whispered, "with the… the flogger. On my skin." He shivered. "Finn – I can't tell you how that made me feel. And sometimes – sometimes I want more than that."

"I usually know what you need," Finn agreed. "I think the more I learn, the more I have to give you. That makes me feel good, to know I'm learning new ways to make you happy."

And Kurt knew he _meant it._ That was the best thing about Finn. He was completely honest, as best as he knew how to be, all the time. And if he wasn't, if there was any hint of anything that he'd hidden, it was _obvious._ When things were good between the two of them, it was just like this: easy. Kurt appreciated that, just as much as he appreciated the heat and intensity of how things were with Noah.

He hesitated, then asked tentatively, "So… what is it you want from… from Carl?"

Kurt felt Finn's arms tense, and he pulled back a fraction to look at Kurt's face. "Really?" he asked.

"Really," Kurt said.

He watched Finn's face settle into this new expression, the one Kurt had seen a few times in the past week, but hadn't understood well enough to be able to call it anything. Now he knew it for what it was: the look of Finn, wanting his Top. Wanting Carl. It wasn't a terrible feeling, to see that expression. It wasn't anything Kurt wanted to give him - and really, not any more scary than the idea of Finn loving Noah.

Finn looked – skittish, shy, like he might fly apart at any moment. Like he was in sixth grade again and had a crush on a boy (girl?) and didn't want him (her?) to know. He was smiling, squirming, breathlessly wanting, and if it was a little weird to see his Top behaving like that, Kurt just reminded himself sternly that even _Carl_ had a Top. _And Mistress Tess?_ he wondered somehow. _Does anyone Top her? God._ He shivered._ He must be terrifying, whoever he is._

"I didn't even realize I wanted that from him, until last night." Finn was saying, and Kurt settled in against his chest to listen, as though he were being told a bedtime story. "Honestly. I knew I – wanted him. Like, I thought he was hot. But I figured that was just a side effect of what we were doing together, the discipline, and what he was teaching me. He told me we couldn't do anything about that. So I just ignored it. No big deal, right?"

"Wrong," Kurt said, smiling, and Finn laughed in relief and delight.

"Yeah," he said. "I guess so. I'm still not sure what to do with it. I mean, what the hell? And – _maybe._ What do I do with that answer?"

"He'll be back in a week," Kurt said. "You can just be patient. He'll help you figure it out. I mean, that's part of his job, right?"

"Uh – yeah," said Finn, surprised. "Wow. I guess you're right. I don't have to figure it out." His eyes glistened. "That's _his_ job," he echoed.

Kurt glanced again into the dining room where Carole was sitting with her knitting. "Did you _really_ tell your mom?"

"I told her – something. That I'm, um. Having feelings for another guy. That he's a dentist." Kurt giggled at the rueful look on Finn's face. "And that he's a grownup."

"_That's_ a little weird, Finn," Kurt said, touching his chest, but Finn shook his head.

"It doesn't feel weird to me. I mean – maybe it should, but… it's just part of who he is. He's older. Experienced. I, uh. I like that." He turned pink, and Kurt had to laugh again. "Jeez. It's kind of hot, Kurt."

"Well, he's not so bad looking, I guess," Kurt agreed. "He and Davis – I can't believe they were together. They must have been _something else."_

"And their girlfriend," Finn agreed. "I can't imagine how hot she must have been. Bebe. Though I wonder how Davis could ever have thought he was anything other than gay?"

"We all go through a questioning phase, Finn," Kurt chided him. "Even me."

"Even me," agreed Finn, and Kurt kissed him before snuggling close again.

And then Finn's phone rang, and even before Finn looked to see, even before Kurt saw the expression on his face - like he was Daffy Duck and he'd been hit with a frying pan – Kurt knew who it was.

Finn answered the call and put the phone, hesitantly, to his ear. "Uh," he said. "Sir?"

Kurt was sitting close enough to him that he could hear his response. "I think we should reserve that for a one-on-one setting, Finn," said Carl, in his smooth voice.

"Okay," Finn agreed. "Carl. Um… how's your trip going?"

"I came home precipitously," said Carl. Kurt's lips twitched. He wondered what it would be like to be dating someone who knew the word _precipitously._ He wondered if Finn had any idea what it meant. "Tess asked my help, and I'm here to take care of it. Now I need _your_ help."

"My help?" Finn glanced at Kurt in agitation. Kurt stroked his back as best he could, though it was an awfully long way to reach. "You – you're here? In Lima?"

"It's for your boy, Puck," he said, and it was Kurt's turn to be startled. "Tess was concerned on his behalf. He stopped to visit her at her club, Tessera, on his way back to Ohio."

"No way," Finn breathed. "Whoa. I bet that was – okay. Um. Never mind."

_I'll definitely be grilling him about _that_ trip,_ Kurt thought, watching Finn knotting up. Kurt gave up on trying to reach his back and had to settle for squeezing his hand, which seemed to help a little.

"She wants to make sure he has a place to stay," he was saying. "So I offered my apartment. You know the one I mean?"

"Oh – yeah," Finn said. "The one next door to your office. Wow, that's… that's really generous of you."

"It's not currently in use. I'm happy to be of help. But maybe now you can help me find _him._ Tess told me he would be in town by tonight, but I'm not sure where to look. I thought you might know."

"Sorry, S- Carl," Finn said, sounding crestfallen. "We haven't heard from him. I don't think he's back yet. He said by Christmas. We've got four more days."

"All right. If you do find him, would you call me on this number? It's my private cell," he added, and Kurt could hear what _that_ meant even this far away from the phone. Finn was speechless for a moment.

"Thank you, sir," he murmured.

"Well. I figured you should have it." He heard Carl take a deep breath, and Kurt thought, _he's nervous._ It was nice to know he was a human being, too, even if he was a grown-up and a Top and everything. "I'm in town for tonight, and then I'm heading back to Tessera to spend Christmas with Davis and Tess."

"Oh," Finn said, then just sat there, chewing his lip and looking anxious. _For heaven's sake,_ Kurt thought, rolling his eyes.

"Tell him you want to see him," he hissed, nudging him. "Go for coffee. Something. Jesus."

Finn looked startled, then terrified. "I can't," he said.

"Finn," Carl said. "We have a… a lot, to discuss. I'd like to meet to talk it over. Forgive me if it's already too late tonight, but I'd be happy to meet at… a neutral location of your choosing. I don't think the office would be… appropriate."

Finn darted a look at Kurt, who nodded encouragingly. "I don't have a car," Finn said.

"You can take the Navigator," Kurt whispered, but Carl said, "I'd be happy to come pick you up. That would give me a chance to meet your mother."

"My… my mother?" Finn blurted.

"Finn," Carl said. "I'm not willing to hide from those who care for me any more than you are. It would make sense for me to meet your mother, if there is to be any modicum of trust between us."

Finn looked absolutely terrified, but Kurt nodded again, gesturing to him to _ go ahead._ He blinked several times, then said, "Um. All right. You could come over here, and then we could… go out. Pat's Donuts?"

"That would be fine. If you give me your address, I can be right over."

"612 Cortlandt," Finn mumbled.

"Great. See you in a few minutes. Finn?"

"Sir?" Kurt squeezed his hand again.

"Don't worry," he said, sounding entirely calm. "I'm going to take care of it. We're going to be fine. Just take a deep breath and relax."

"All right," Finn said, and before his very eyes, Kurt watched Finn unknot his tense muscles, breathe deeply, and smile, his eyes shining. Kurt would not have believed it if he had not been there to observe it, but there it was. "Thank you, sir."

"That's my good boy," he said, with such unbelievable tenderness that even _Kurt_ went a little weak in the knees. Finn, on the other hand, lost all muscle tone and collapsed, phone to his chest, on the couch.

"Holy shit, Kurt," he whimpered. "He's – he's coming over to my _house_ to meet my _mother."_

"Finn, he told you, everything's going to be fine," Kurt said, as soothingly as he could. "You'd better let her know he's coming, though."

Kurt had to tug Finn off the couch and into the dining room himself. _This part, Bratty Finn, I can definitely do without,_ Kurt thought grimly. _If Dr. Howell can spank some sense into him, I might become his biggest fan._

"Um," Finn said to Carole, standing before her. She looked up expectantly.

"Finn?" she said, glancing at Kurt.

"Mom," he said, "remember yesterday when I told you about… the dentist?"

She set down her knitting slowly. "Yes," she said. "There's… not anybody else, is there?"

"God, no," Finn groaned, hiding his face in his hand. "No. Nobody else. But… um. Carl. His name is… Carl. He was supposed to be out of town for a week, but he came back _into_ town, to help Puck –"

"Puck?" she said, startled. "He knows him, too? Are _they-?"_

"No," said Finn and Kurt together. Kurt put a hand on Finn's arm. "No," said Finn again. "He's our friend. He's been… really helpful. He has a place for Puck to stay, and he was trying to find him. I told him Puck's not in town yet."

"He should be back soon, though," Carole said, smiling. "That's good, right?"

"Yes," Kurt said, while Finn nodded fervently. "But now Carl's in town. And he wants to see Finn."

"Oh," Carole said, taken aback. "Kurt. You're… you're okay with this?"

"It's all right," Kurt said. "I know how he feels. And _no,_ before you ask, I'm _not _interested in Carl." Then, seeing Finn's anxious expression, he added, "but he's a very kind, intelligent man."

Both Finn and Carole looked surprised to hear this, but Finn's look of gratitude was worth it. "That's good to know," she said.

"He wants to meet you, Carole," Kurt said, and Carole's eyes widened. "He's coming over now. To take Finn out for donuts."

"Finn," Carole protested. "You need to ask before… well. Before you have a…" She pressed her lips together, but not before a laugh escaped her lips. It sounded a little on the hysterical side. "Before strange men invite you out for donuts."

"I'm sorry, Mom," he said. "It was kind of sudden. Can I go?" He looked so earnest and hopeful, Kurt knew there was no way she'd ever say no. _It's a good thing Finn's a rule-follower,_ Kurt thought, watching the two of them smiling at each other. _He'd get away with anything, otherwise._

"You're not going anywhere else," she said. "Just to Pat's and back? And he's not… you're not…"

"Mom," Finn protested, turning red. "Jesus. We haven't done _anything_." Which was untrue enough to make him look completely guilty, but Carole didn't say anything about it. "I promise," he added. "Donuts and home."

Improbably, she glanced at Kurt. What could he do? He nodded. "All right," she said. "When will he be here? Do I need to put on anything nicer than this?"

"Mom, you're fine," Finn said. Kurt would have advised her on wardrobe and jewelry, had she been meeting _his_ boyfriend, he thought. Then he laughed at himself. _She knew his boyfriend very well. This is so fucked up._

"Kurt," she said, holding out her hand, and he took it. "Are you okay? Really." She pointed a finger at Finn. "No words from you, mister."

"I'll be okay," he promised. "Finn and I are just fine. This is a… complication, but it's not going to get in our way." He slipped his other arm around Finn's waist. "Don't worry about us."

"It's _you_ I'm worried about, sweetie," she said, squeezing his hand. "Finn, you didn't take long to move on from Puck. I don't want him dumping you, too."

"Mom!" Finn yelled, looking shocked, and Kurt tried hard not to laugh, because it wasn't at _all _funny. He sputtered, "I'm not _moving on._ Puck – I'm still – I'm never going to – "

"It's okay," Kurt said. "She was teasing you. Right?" He squeezed her hand back.

"You're amazing," she said, smiling at Kurt, and gave him a hug. Finn looked completely lost, and more than a little annoyed.

"Mom, you don't _really _think I –" he began, but she just hugged him, too.

"No," she said. "I don't think. Have a little faith in me, okay? Now tell me all about this boy – er, gentleman."

By the time the doorbell rang, they'd shared everything that was safe to share with Carole about Carl Howell, DDS. _The rest will wait for another time, _Kurt thought, hanging back in the family room, watching Finn answering the door with equal measures of eagerness and dread.

"Hi," he said, opening the door. Carl stepped inside, looking entirely too handsome and as calm as Kurt had ever seen him. He was only a little taller than Kurt himself, but it didn't detract from his presence. Currently, he had that toned way down, and seemed to be shooting for preppy casual. "Carl – let me introduce you to my mother. This is Carole Hudson. Mom, this is… Carl Howell."

"Pleased to meet you," he said, with a smile. "Please, call me Carl."

She shook his hand, looking a little startled. "Carole," she said. "Thanks… for coming over."

He turned to Kurt. "Good to see you again, Kurt."

"Thanks," Kurt said, shaking his hand. "You, too."

"I know all of this is a little unorthodox," Carl went right on, "so you'll forgive me if I dispense with formalities. I actually wouldn't know the appropriate specifics for a situation like this." He smiled again, focusing on Carole, and she just nodded, watching him.

"Finn said he'd like to go out with you for coffee," she said. "That's fine with me, if you could please have him home by midnight."

"That's very kind of you," he said. "I can't imagine you feel… comfortable with a stranger taking your son out for coffee."

"Well," she said, "you got the okay from his boyfriend, so I'm thinking that's got to be enough for his mother."

Carl looked nonplussed for a long moment, but recovered and smiled tentatively at Kurt. "All right," he said, watching his face carefully. "Kurt – I'll be a perfect gentleman."

Kurt felt like he might laugh – or possibly weep, he wasn't sure – but both impulses passed, and he was able to maintain a steady gaze on Carl. "I'll hold you to that," he said, but he nodded at the door. "Have a good time," he murmured to Finn, who looked like he might pass out.

Then Carl turned to Finn and touched him, gently, but very deliberately, on the small of his back. "Are you ready to go, Finn?" he asked.

"Yes… Carl," he said, and there was no way Carole could have missed that look. Even if she didn't recognize it for what it was, it was written all over his face: he was completely _gone_. Kurt saw her blink.

"I'll have him back before midnight," Carl said quietly. "Thank you again. Glad to meet you, Carole. Kurt." He nodded at both of them as he opened the door for Finn.

When they'd gone, Carole exhaled, long and slow. "Oh my god," she said, in a weak voice. "I can't believe I just did that."

"He'll be fine, Carole," Kurt said. "Carl's been our… friend almost from the beginning." Then he realized something. "Carole, he's _Tess's _friend."

"Oh," she said, with a start. "Really? Oh – well. In that case." She smiled at Kurt, looking far more relaxed. "I'll call her tomorrow. Come on. Let's go watch a pointless movie. I need to _not think_ for a little while."

They were better than halfway through Funny Girl when Kurt's phone rang from Puck. Carole paused the movie. "I'll make us some tea," she said, moving to the kitchen. Kurt quickly answered the phone.

"Noah," he said, and he didn't bother to hide the happiness in his voice.

He heard Puck make a little gasp. "Kurt," he pleaded.

"Noah, are you okay?" Now Kurt was alarmed. "Do you need anything?"

"Uh…" He laughed shakily. "I… I'm okay. I'm just calling to… to tell you I'm all right. And I'm home. I mean, I'm in Lima. I'm here and I'm safe."

"Noah," Kurt breathed, because _god,_ Noah sounded _way_ too sexy for the middle of the Hudson's family room. "Where – I have to see you. Now."

"I can't," Puck sighed. "I really – I _really_ can't. But I wanted you to know I was safe. And that – I love you. So fucking much."

"Sweetheart," pleaded Kurt. Then he sighed, too. "Finn's gone," he said, trying not to sound sad. "Gone for tonight. I wish – I wish I could see you. Can't you… I could come to you?" He put a little persuasion in his voice. "I could make it worth your while."

"Ohhh," he groaned. "Baby, I – I can't right now, I really… please, understand. It's not that I don't – don't want you. Because I do, _so_ much, you have no idea."

"All right," Kurt said, quietly. "Tomorrow, though. Where can I see you?"

"I'll come find you," he said. "Don't worry."

"I love you, sweetheart," he said, and he thought he heard Puck give a little sob. It just about broke his heart.

"I'm so lucky," Puck gasped. "So lucky. You're – thank you."

Kurt disconnected the call, and sighed. _I have two boys in love with me, both of whom I love more than life. How could this possibly be bad? _ He was even able to smile about it, a little.

Carole cuddled up to him on the couch with her tea. "How's Puck doing?" she said quietly.

"He's home," Kurt said. "He'll come over tomorrow."

"That's wonderful, honey," she said. "I know you missed him so much."

"I really did," he agreed. "I'm not sure how things are going to be, now that he's home. He has Adam now, after all."

"Adam," Carole mused. Then she sighed, and kissed Kurt's forehead. "You're the best thing that ever happened to Finn," she said. "You know that?"

"Carole," he said, astonished, and blinked away tears.

"No more talking," she said, waving her hand. "I want my Barbra fix before Finn gets home. I suspect there'll be plenty of words to exchange then."


	35. Chapter 35

_(Author's note: after a long day spent staring at the blank page wondering what the hell was going on with my three boys, I read something from Patch and Raving Liberal that made me go OMG. And then I cried a lot and wrote this. So thank you to Patch and Rav for getting me out of my funk, and also for reminding me why I started writing this story to begin with. Thanks to knittycat99 for writing the Mike section. And thanks also to all the wonderful loves of my life; you know who you are. There are about four more chapters to go in Archer's Hand. Enjoy. -amy)_

* * *

><p>Finn stopped short on the porch when he saw what was parked in his driveway. "Is - is that <em>yours?"<em> he stuttered.

Carl smiled faintly. "Would you believe you're not the only symptom of my midlife crisis? I got it about three months ago."

Finn stepped forward hesitantly, then ran an awed hand along the red paint of the Corvette convertible. "How fast -"

"Zero to sixty in three point eight seconds," Carl said. "Top speed one hundred ninety-eight miles per hour." He unlocked the door. "Get in. I'll show you."

Finn folded his long legs into the passenger seat and shut the door behind himself, inhaling the scent of new leather and, underneath, Carl's cologne. He stopped himself there, because this was already a hell of a lot more nerve-wracking than he'd expected this week to be. Carl was supposed to be _gone_, for a week. Finn had only just adjusted to this idea - and then suddenly, here Carl was, sitting in his Corvette, in Finn's driveway. Smiling at him.

"Is this a - a date?" Finn said in a small voice, and Carl's smile widened.

"I think this would qualify as a private setting, Finn," he said quietly.

Finn felt himself grow still, all the motion in his body reduced to a tiny quivering point in the center of his stomach. "Um," he said. "Is this a date... sir?"

Carl turned in the seat to face Finn, his gaze intensifying. Finn felt his eyes grow larger as he shrank back in his seat, his heart thumping faster.

"I do like hearing you say that," he murmured. His eyes flickered over Finn's hand, resting on the upholstery, and Finn felt it like a caress. It made his breath stick in his throat.

"Sir?" he managed to get out.

Carl's lips parted. "Maybe," he said. "Do you want it to be?"

He got entirely too caught up in looking at the space between those lips, and had to look away. "Do - do you?"

"Are you going to answer me?" Now it sounded like a warning.

"I - yes, sir," he said, quickly. "I mean, I do. Yes. Please." _Jesus. How much more ridiculous can I sound?_ He ran a hand over his forehead, and felt the sweat there, in the midst of Carl's chilly car.

"I'm sorry," he added. He wondered if he shouldn't just get out of the car and try getting in again.

"Finn," said Carl, and Finn's eyes snapped up to his. He was still smiling. "Just relax. I'm not trying to make this complicated. Let's go have... a donut, all right?"

"All right, sir," he said. Finn leaned back in the bucket seat and tried to follow Carl's directive to _relax_, but it wasn't easy. He was far too aware of Carl's hand on the gear shift next to him, Carl's shoulder, scant inches away. He wanted to touch him, but didn't know what was okay and what wasn't. He wasn't sure what he was allowed to do. _Maybe_ was just too vague.

But Finn wasn't in charge here. He wasn't sure what he could ask for and what he was just going to have to cope with. So he just stared longingly at the hand, watching Carl's strong knuckles grip the gear shift, and waited as patiently as he could. He was usually pretty patient. Usually.

The car scarcely purred as it pulled smoothly backwards out of the Hudson driveway and into the street. Then the car accelerated, and Finn barely had time to think _holy shit_ before they were around the corner onto Woodward, then around the second corner onto Grand, and then they were zipping around cars on the onramp toward Elida.

"You, uh, like to go fast, sir," Finn said, and laughed nervously as he realized how that had sounded. "I don't mean..."

"Honestly, Finn," he replied, sounding amused, pulling around another car and moving smoothly into the exit to highway 30. "It's been... a long time since I was in any kind of relationship. I don't even _know_ if I like to go fast anymore. So I figured this would be a good opportunity to try... going slowly. All right?"

"I guess." Carl shot him a laughing glance at his disappointed tone, and he sighed. "Sorry, sir."

"No sorries, Finn. This is all okay."

"More than okay, I hope, sir," he said, and then he _did_ reach out and touch Carl's hand, right there on the gear shift, and Carl made a strangled noise between his teeth and stepped on the gas. Finn hadn't realized he hadn't _actually _been accelerating at _all,_ and the car leapt forward like it had been bitten. He grabbed the seat with one hand and Carl's hand with the other. They exchanged startled glances.

"Yes," Carl said, softly. "More than okay."

They were already approaching I-75, the car hugging the road like they were going fifty instead of eighty-five, and Carl looked like he was hesitating a moment between choosing to go north, away from town, or south, toward Pat's Donuts. Finn gazed across the dashboard at the rapidly approaching landscape.

"I wish... do you ever just think about getting in your car and _driving_ as far away from this place as you can get?" Finn said. "Just going _somewhere,_ anywhere? Just - to get away, to be able to do whatever you want?"

Carl didn't answer, but he adjusted his fingers so they had a more comfortable grip on Finn's hand, and gave him a squeeze. Finn swallowed.

"Only in my most foolish moments," Carl said. "My life is complicated enough without trying to run away from my responsibilities. Better to deal with them head on, don't you think?"

"Yes, sir," Finn said, and now didn't he feel like a _total_ stupid kid? He sighed in frustration. "You're right. I just - sometimes I think that things would be easier, somewhere else. This place, this town. Lima." He gestured out the window glumly. "Have you lived other places?"

They were already at the Bellefontaine exit. _Man, this car is fast._ "California, when I was in the army," said Carl. "And New York, when my partner was living there. And Michigan, during dental school. Every place is different, but moving somewhere else doesn't solve your problems. It just gives you a new place from which to consider them."

"I don't know why anybody would _choose_ to live in Lima." Finn cast puzzled eyes out the window. "I mean, I guess it's okay, but... aren't there places with more opportunities, more things to do? More ways to be?"

"More diversity, you mean?" Carl pulled into the parking lot of Pat's Donuts and guided the Corvette into an empty space.

"Not exactly." Finn tried again. "Sometimes I think being here is exactly what I want. You know? It's got my family, my friends, all the things I know. And then - I wonder about all the other things I'm missing, out there. The things I don't know about. And there's so much that I _don't know _that I don't know." He cocked his head. "You know?"

Carl laughed. "I know," he nodded. "But Finn. You're _sixteen._ You've got plenty of time to learn about those things. You know a hell of a lot more at sixteen than most young men know at twenty-seven." His lips twisted wryly. "Don't be in such a hurry."

"I've got a lot," Finn said softly. "I feel - really lucky."

Pat's was nearly empty when they went inside. Carl tapped the table of a small booth in the corner and said, "Have a seat. I'll get us something to eat."

He sank into the booth and watched, confused, as Carl went to the counter and ordered. Carl brought him a cup of water from the cooler while he waited for the woman to box up his donuts.

"I didn't tell you what I wanted," Finn said, sipping the water.

"Oh, trust me," Carl said with a smile. "I know."

* * *

><p>Kurt knew Puck wasn't there when he came home and didn't see Puck's truck in the garage the next morning, but he still had to ask the question when his dad came out of the kitchen: "Did you talk to him?"<p>

"Yes, Kurt, I talked to him," his dad said, laying a hand on his shoulder. He looked disgruntled. "We had a long talk. He wants to see you. Last night was just not the right time. He was completely exhausted - he practically fell asleep on his feet in the kitchen. So don't yell at me for not calling you."

"No," Kurt said, shaking his head. "No - he called _me."_

"Really?" Burt was startled. "Huh. No kidding. After we talked to Adam, I figured -"

"_What?"_ Kurt yelped. He watched his dad smirk. _"Dad."_

"He's a nice young man," said Burt. That was all Kurt could get out of him, even after repeated digging for more details. Eventually he did say, "Oh, and Puck gave me this."

Burt handed Kurt the CD. Kurt knew it had been released a few days ago, but it wasn't the picture of Adam on the cover that caught his attention. It was the inscription. There were two lines.

_For Noah, who reminded me why the music matters, and gave me the greatest gift a man can receive. Just remember you are not alone in the aftermath. Love, always – Adam._

_Kurt – take a step and fall into the glitter – Adam._

"I told him I wouldn't let you pass out," his dad said, and gave him a vaguely concerned look. "You're not going to, are you?"

"No," Kurt said, finally. "I'm just... no. I'm all right."

They put the CD on and listened to it while they got the Christmas decorations out of the basement storage room. Kurt told his dad what had happened last night with Finn. He listened silently, but he didn't look happy.

"Kurt," his dad said at last, his brow wrinkling, "Finn's been in a... well, I guess a nice way to say it would be a _fragile state,_ these past couple days. You really think he's in any position to start a new relationship?"

"It's not... new, dad," Kurt said, carefully straightening out the strands of Christmas lights on the floor, feeling for loose bulbs. "They've known each other for a while now. And even though this part might be new, it's been coming for a while. I could see it. It's just... Finn needs him right now."

Burt glared fiercely at the wall. "I told Puck," he said at last. "I told him, there's stuff I wasn't going to want to hear about. But I'd rather _know,_ than _not know. _I'm guessing this is one of those things?"

"Um." Kurt felt his face flush hot. "Dad. If you don't mind, I'd rather it come from Finn, and not from... from me. If that's okay. I mean, it's his relationship, not mine."

Burt nodded silently. He lifted the tree topper out of the box and laid it out on the table. Underneath it was a box of ornaments. He broke into a smile as he opened it. "Kurt, you remember this one?"

Kurt groaned as his dad reached into the box and showed Kurt the Play-Doh reindeer ornament, covered with glitter and rhinestones and suspended from a silver hook. "I can't believe you still have that."

"You bet I do," said Burt. "And you can bet I'll be giving it to your kids someday."

Kurt paused, unexpected tears prickling his eyes. "You're so sure I'll have kids?"

His dad's smile was calm and warm. "Yeah," he said softly. "I'm sure."

* * *

><p>It was strange to pull into the empty parking lot beside Dr. Howell's office, and then to just walk right by the door to the office and press the bell beside the next door down. <em>234 ½ N. Main St,<em> read the lettering on the door. Puck heard a buzzer and a click, when he tried the door, it opened easily.

The staircase going up was in disrepair, but the door at the top opened into a clean, light-filled space. The ceilings were high, just as the second floor rooms next door were. Other than that comparison, it was nothing like the open octagonal rooms in Dr. Howell's upstairs office. This felt like just another apartment.

Dr. Howell himself was standing there in the front hallway, reaching out to take the box from Puck's hands. "I can think of a whole bunch of people who'll be happy to hear you made it home safely," he said. He set the box down and offered his hand. Puck took it and shook it, startled.

"I'm a good driver," Puck said, and Dr. Howell laughed.

"I don't think that was in question, though you'll forgive me if I reserve judgment. Of course, this is coming from a guy who thinks that sixty-five on the speed limit sign is just a suggestion."

Puck was a little disconcerted by Dr. Howell's easy manner. He thought of the first time he'd met him, downstairs in the reception area of his office, and how Dr. Howell had corrected his stance and called him _Finn's property._ He shivered. It still haunted his dreams, and they weren't exactly unpleasant, either.

"You're sure this is okay?" he said.

"Tess was worried that you had no place to go," Dr. Howell replied, beckoning Puck inside. "I'm just glad it was this easy for me to help quell her fears. She doesn't want you to feel like you're alone."

Puck pulled his guitar's case into the room and closed the door behind him without any further comments. They emerged from the hallway into a small kitchen and a long, narrow family room. One wall was all windows, looking out onto the rooftops. It wasn't exactly landscape view, but Puck decided he liked it. _Private,_ he thought, setting the guitar case down on the coffee table.

"I went ahead and made up the bed," Dr. Howell said, surprising Puck again. "There's no laundry, so you'll have to take your wash out, but there's a laundromat a few blocks south of here."

"I bet Burt'll let me do it at his place," Puck said.

Dr. Howell nodded slowly. "Your sister's staying there," he said. "Finn told me. But you... you don't want to."

"No." Puck walked the length of the family room slowly, touching each window in turn. There were eight panes, each one easily as tall as he was. "I love Kurt. I love Burt, too. But I'm not moving in there. That's their space, Kurt and Burt, their family. I need my own space - a place to let me be _me,_ and not just part of something else." He sighed lightly, feeling the sound rise in the open space. "Maybe someday I'll be ready to be part of that family. I'm still saying goodbye to my old one."

"Your mother," Dr. Howell said quietly. "I read about it in the paper. I'm... I'm so sorry, Puck."

Puck smiled at him, surprised yet again. "Thanks," he said. "It was pretty sudden, but we knew she was sick. And I guess I was lucky to have Burt and Carole, and my brother, around. They took care of a lot of the complicated shit afterwards."

"I suspect there's plenty of complicated shit to come," said Dr. Howell, making Puck smile. He looked closely at him. "You look better, though."

"I am better," Puck agreed. He sat down on the couch. "Remember when I came to see you, before I left? You reminded me that I needed to go to Kurt, that he was there to take care of me." Dr. Howell nodded. "I do need Kurt. And - Finn. I need him, too."

"Yes," said Dr. Howell, and sighed. "I understand that."

"But me and Finn, he hasn't been - I mean, we had a fight. You remember." Then Puck remembered what Kurt had told him. "You've been seeing Finn, too?"

Dr. Howell's face went inexplicably red. "I beg your pardon?" he choked.

"Kurt said. He was coming to visit you." Puck gazed at him, curiously. "You gave him what he needed?"

"I - I suppose that would be confidential," Dr. Howell said, still flushing. Puck shook his head.

"Well, whatever you did, thanks. Because_ I _understand. I got what I needed. From kind of an unexpected source, but - I got it." Puck felt the looseness in his limbs, the calm certainty inside him, and thought of his conversation on the phone last night. He smiled. "I didn't realize what Finn needed until I met Adam."

"Adam." Dr. Howell looked surprised now. "What about Kurt?"

"It's different," he said. "I don't know how to say it any other way. Even things with Finn were different. Maybe it's different with everybody. I don't know." He shrugged. "Isn't it different, for you, with all your clients?"

"It is," he agreed. "And Kurt - he's all right about it?"

Puck nodded slowly. "I told him before I even did anything about it. Well, kind of. I know it wasn't easy for him to hear. But - I can't really control who I fall in love with. You know what I mean?"

Dr. Howell didn't answer for a moment. "It's what we agreed to," Puck went on. "I wish I'd followed it better. No lying... no hiding. I'm not going to do either one anymore."

His eyes flickered to Puck's with unexpected intensity. "No," he said. "I can see that."

"Finn... he didn't want to hear about Adam." Puck sighed. "I know we've got a hell of a lot of talking to do. I don't know exactly how to get us back to where we were... but I'm going to try."

"I know he's going to take some time, too," Dr. Howell said. "But he'll be relieved to hear that. He loves you, you know."

"Yeah," Puck said, feeling calm and clear. "I love him, too."

Dr. Howell sat in the leather chair at the end of the coffee table. He took a deep breath, then reached out and handed something to Puck. It was a ring with two keys on it. "Puck... this place. You can use it as long as you need. I'm glad I can help. I don't want you to worry about it."

"All right." Puck must have looked confused, because he went on.

"This isn't... I want to apologize, once more, about what happened before, between the two of us. My behavior was... inappropriate. And also to let you know that I won't be able to see you anymore, as a client."

Now he was _really_ confused. "Why? Did I do something -?"

"No," Dr. Howell hastened to say, holding up a hand. "No. This is separate. But I'm happy, for you, that you found what you needed elsewhere, even if you and Finn couldn't have that. I'm not saying I can't help you anymore. Just not in that way. I'm happy to talk, and listen. I'd like to be your friend." His eyes went to the far wall, and he looked suddenly uncomfortable. "Assuming you still want to talk to me in a few minutes."

"What?" Puck said.

Dr. Howell cleared his throat. "Finn... and I. We're... renegotiating our relationship." He shook his head. "That's not exactly it. It became clear in the course of our mentor-client interactions that things were... progressing. And we discussed it."

"Oh." Puck felt the confusion clear in one wash of incredulity. "_Oh._ Uh... holy shit. You and _Finn?"_

He straightened his back and gazed at Puck. "We're going very... slowly."

"Wow. That's... uh, surprising." He raised an eyebrow. "Last time Finn and I talked about this, he was pretty fucking sure he didn't want anybody in charge of him. You're trying to tell me he's changed his mind?"

Dr. Howell, to his credit, didn't look embarrassed. He smiled, though, and the smile changed his expression from a polite, handsome mask to a surprisingly sheepish and human grin. "Yes," he said. "That's exactly what he did. And I wanted you to know. Because... well. Like you said. No lying; no hiding." He leaned in and touched Puck's hand. "Because I love him, too."

"Dude," Puck whispered. "That's just..." He watched Dr. Howell's eyes for a moment, then shook his head and sat back slowly. "And Finn... he loves you?"

Dr. Howell nodded. "He doesn't know I'm telling you this, but I don't think it's fair for me to withhold it. I met Carole last night."

"Finn's _mom?"_ Even in the midst of his surprise, Puck smiled at him in admiration. "You're calling _this_ moving slowly? It took me eight fucking _years _to tell her how I felt about him."

Dr. Howell smiled. "Mmmm. I suspect she knew, on some level. You're not subtle." He stood, and Puck followed suit. "I'm going to leave you to get settled here. Angela can help you if you need anything while I'm gone."

"Gone?" Puck took his offered hand, shaking it with a whole different awareness of Dr. Howell's presence in Finn's life. "Where're you going?"

"Back to Tessera," he said. "I hear we crossed paths there a few days ago. I'm having Christmas with Davis. We'll be back before the new year." His eyes grew grave. "You'll talk to Finn? He might not want to admit it, but he needs you."

"Uh." Puck blinked furiously. "Fuck, man. You know how to ambush a guy."

"I'm not going to apologize for being honest," he said quietly. "It's been too long since I had something for myself. More than anything, I want Finn to be happy."

"And you think I'm going to make him happy?" Puck knew he looked dubious. "I don't know. Yeah, I love him."

"But it's more than that." Dr. Howell moved toward the door. "You've got something, the two of you. The three of you, to be more clear. Don't you think it's worth fighting for?"

Puck watched him walk down the stairs. "Dr. Howell?"

His voice was amused. "Why don't you call me Carl, Puck."

"Merry Christmas, Carl."

"Happy Hanukkah, Puck. It's good to see you safely back home."

* * *

><p>"You're going to wear a path in that carpet, Kurt," Burt snapped as he made the six or seven dozenth loop between the kitchen and the front hall. "Would you just sit down and finish your dinner?"<p>

Kurt sat back in his chair, barely able to keep his seat. Finn reached out a hand and touched his. "He's safe," he said. "He told you. It'll be soon. Take a deep breath."

Kurt let the air fill his lungs and flow out again. It helped, a little. "It's harder, somehow," he tried to explain, "knowing he's so close."

Sarah glared at Burt over a forkful of pasta. "_Somebody_ saw him," she said. "And didn't _call."_

"Hey," Burt protested, holding up his hands. "I told you. He was dead on his feet." Kurt suspected it was more than that. He knew Noah well enough to guess how he'd been feeling. It didn't make it easier, though.

Burt turned to Sarah. "Tomorrow we go grocery shopping for Christmas dinner, kiddo. You ready with your ingredient list?"

"Ready." Sarah looked a little mollified. "You sure you still want _me _to make dinner, now that Noah's back in town? I bet he'd do it."

"Yes," Burt said with stubborn surety. Kurt rolled his eyes. _Between the two of them, I'm never going to get to make another decision in this household._

"You'd better get going," Carole said. "It's nearly seven. They're going to leave without you."

Finn grinned and shook his head. "They wouldn't start caroling without Kurt," he said. "And even if they do, we'll find them. We'll be able to hear Mercedes blocks away."

"I'm going to tell her you said that," Kurt said, grinning back. It was nice to see Finn smiling, and he could tell Carole felt the same. She was watching him carefully, keeping an eye on him. _Being in love suits him, _Kurt thought. _I'll take this over moody Finn any day._

Finn had a warm hat and a scarf, and Burt found him a pair of old gloves. "You're going to freeze," his dad remarked, watching Kurt button up his jacket and carefully slip on earmuffs over his hair.

"Maybe," Kurt allowed. "But I'll make a handsome corpse."

It wasn't all that cold out, what with the fresh snowfall and the cloud cover. Kurt could see his breath, but there was no wind. "Singing will keep us warm," he added. "I have my phone. You'll call me if -"

"Just go sing, for god's sake," Burt sighed. "Yes, I'll call. You're not going to miss him tonight, I promise."

Carole gave Kurt, then Finn, a kiss. "Have fun caroling."

Kurt felt Finn's hand on his back as they headed out the front door, making tracks toward the garage. "You sure you don't want to stay home?" he asked quietly.

"No," Kurt said. "I'll eat my brain if I sit at home waiting. Believe me, this is better. And I'd kick myself if I missed caroling."

The night was perfect, each tree draped with white and sparkling with starlight, even amid the overcast sky. Kurt found himself humming O Holy Night as they made their way through Finn's streets and into Mercedes' neighborhood. "Did you and your mom ever do this?" he asked.

Finn snorted with clear hilarity. "_No,_" he said emphatically, "and if you'd ever heard my mom singing, you'd know why. No, we made Christmas cookies instead. She'd roll out the dough on the counter and we'd cut each cookie one at a time. They mostly didn't get past the hot out of the oven stage, because Puck -" Finn paused, then shook his head. "Never mind."

Kurt turned a corner and glanced at Finn. "I know you're missing him too."

Finn sighed. "I'm not being super rational, myself, today."

Kurt decided not to mention the dreams he'd been pretty sure Finn had woken from in the middle of the night. He didn't want to embarrass him any further in front of Glee, and Finn was already a nice shade of coral.

They had to park a block away on the street and trudge through the snow to Mercedes' house. Her house was hung with icicle lights and a festive wreath on the door. "Hey, we never got a tree," Finn realized. "It's a little late, I guess, but -"

"I think my dad planned to get one tonight," Kurt said, stamping off the snow on his shoes before stepping through the frong door. "You going to have one at your house, too?"

"I'm not even sure," Finn said. He stared at Kurt. "This Christmas has been so messed up, but... I don't know. It's been something."

"It's okay to be happy, Finn," Kurt whispered, touching his arm. "Really. I promise. Don't feel bad about that."

Finn exhaled unevenly, like a laugh, and nodded once, with a little private smile for Kurt, before entering the hubbub of the party. Brad was there, and Andi, though Laurie was absent. Kurt guessed she was probably putting the kids to bed. Tina greeted them with packets of carol music and cups of warm cider.

"Merry Christmas, guys," she said, with a smile. She kissed Kurt. "No word yet?"

"He's in town," he said, making her gasp and open her eyes. "Somewhere. I hope... he was at my house last night while I was somewhere else, and my dad _didn't even tell me."_

"No way," Tina laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. "Oh, I'm sorry to laugh, Kurt, that's terrible. But - he's almost home! That's fantastic news!"

They passed through the dining room, greeting and hugging Glee members, and then Mr. Schue waved his arms and said, "We're going to head out. Okay - setlist. Let's start with Walking in a Winter Wonderland - that's the third to last in your packet - and then move to Deck the Hall, number six..."

"More than enough planning, Mr. Schue," Quinn said flatly. "Let's go outside before the pregnant girl decides walking through the snow at night is a stupid idea."

They filed out, generally in sections, though the tenors looked sad to be down one Toby. "You going out to Denver tomorrow, Mr. Schue?" Mercedes asked, making him smile.

"It won't exactly be a festive Christmas," he said. "Most of it will be packing his house. But at least Brad and I get to see Singin' in the Rain. Last time I saw Toby in that, we were seniors in high school."

Kurt caught Mike watching him. He wasn't good enough friends with Mike to have had a personal conversation about Noah with him, but he expected he was getting the information filtered through Santana and her friends. He hadn't said anything negative about Puck, so Kurt was tentatively counting him as an ally, but he wasn't sure yet.

Brittany... she was a funny one. Kurt and Britt had grown up two blocks away from each other, and even though they weren't super good friends anymore, he still occasionally saw her around the neighborhood, working on her garden. Now that Quinn was staying there, he saw her every now and then, too.

"How's he doing?" Quinn said in a low voice, coming up behind him. Kurt was momentarily startled, but he recovered, pulling the muffler closer around his neck.

"You mean -?" he asked, nodding at Finn, and she rolled her eyes, nodding. "Um. A lot better."

"Yeah?" She looked surprised. "He didn't want to talk to him, did he?"

"Refused," he confirmed. "As in ran away from a phone conversation. But he's... they'll work on it. They both care about the other. I don't think they're going to forget that."

She was silent. Then she took his arm as they went down the steps to the sidewalk. "But you talked to him?"

"Twice. He's home now, but I haven't seen him yet. Soon."

She nodded, then hesitated. "You can call me," she said, making him stare at her in confusion. "I mean, if you need any help with Puck. He can be obnoxious, I know."

"He's not," Kurt protested. "He's... sweet."

The look she gave him was so perplexed that he just gave up. "Thank you, Quinn."

They formed a loose, huddled group in the snow under a street light, and flipped to Winter Wonderland, and on Mr. Schue's raised hand cue, they began:

_Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?  
><em>_In the lane snow is glistening  
><em>_A beautiful sight, we're happy tonight  
><em>_Walking in a winter wonderland_

It was a little strange to be singing to no audience, and the acoustics of singing in fresh snow were not the best, but Kurt thought they were doing pretty well considering they'd only rehearsed once. By the time they made it through verse four in Deck the Hall, he was feeling pretty good. At the next house they decided to ring the doorbell first, wassail-style, and they got a couple standing in the doorway smiling at them, with a little girl about Duncan's age staring through the glass:

_Fast away the old year passes, fa la la la la, la la la la  
><em>_Join the new, ye lads and lasses, fa la la la la, la la la la  
><em>_Sing we joyous all together, fa la la la la, la la la la  
><em>_Heedless of the wind and weather, fa la la la la, la la la la_

Some people clapped; some gave them money, which Mr. Schue collected in a box; they'd decided to donate it to a local homeless shelter. One family tried to give them a bottle of wine, but Mr. Schue drew the line, to general protestation.

The further away from Mercedes' house they got, the more restless Kurt began to feel. He got distracted enough that he missed the alto's best cue in The First Noel.

"You okay, Kurt?" Mr. Schue said, giving him a pointed glance. Everybody looked at him, and he sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I'll try to stay focused."

"It's okay," Mr. Schue said gently. "Don't worry about it."

As they made a line in the snow toward the next streetlight and trudged a path through the snow, Matt came up behind him and nudged him. "Hey," he said. "I, uh, just wanted to say... about Puck."

Kurt gazed back at him as levelly as he could. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry," Matt said. "About how he treated you earlier this year. And I guess... you guys? Like, the two of you?" He made a gesture that was hard to misinterpret. Kurt tried not to smile.

"Yes," he repeated.

"Oh," he said. "Uh. Well, that's... I'm happy for you. I mean, for him, too. And... jeez. Sorry."

"It's all right, Matt." Kurt let himself smile now, which made Matt blush harder. "That's kind of you to say. It's been going on a while now."

"I was kind of surprised, because... I mean, _Puck?_ I never would have... I mean, him and Rachel, and then him and Quinn... and he was with Santana -"

Kurt wasn't sure if he should stop him or let him keep digging his hole deeper, but eventually he put a hand on Matt's shoulder and smiled. "He'll be home soon," he said. "I'm sure he'd be happy to talk with you about everything."

Kurt wasn't at all sure of any such thing, actually. He regretted not talking to Noah about this before he'd done it. But it was out now. _He'd wanted to tell everyone,_ Kurt thought uneasily. _He wasn't the one who wanted to keep it a secret. _He hoped that was actually still true.

Mercedes gave him a hug before they sang Away In A Manger at their next stop. "Finn seems... better," she said, looking puzzled. "Did something happen?"

"Did something ever," he muttered, but at her wide eyes, he shook his head. "Not now. Trust me. Later. Can we just get through this?"

"It's supposed to be _fun,_ Kurt," she said, with a little smile. "You could just go home now, if you want."

"No..." He sighed. "No. This is where I want to be. I don't want to miss it just because... no, I'm fine."

She squeezed his hand through his red leather gloves. "Did you talk to him last night?"

"He called late... just to let me know he was back in town. He's getting settled. He, um, has an apartment." Kurt wondered if Dr. Howell - if _Carl -_ had found him. He felt a little light headed. "We should probably sing..." he muttered, waving at the assembled group.

He could hear Rachel's voice above the others as they sang, and two houses on the corner turned on their porch lights and opened their doors to listen, smiling at them:

_Lo how a rose e'er blooming  
><em>_from tender stem hath sprung  
><em>_Of Jesse's lineage coming  
><em>_as men of old have sung  
><em>_It came, a flow'ret bright  
><em>_amid the cold of winter  
><em>_When half spent was the night_

Kurt inexplicably thought of his mother, and the day they'd made those Play-Doh ornaments together. He'd spilled half a bottle of glitter on his ornament, and he'd apologized, but she hadn't minded. The nurse at her hospital table was kind enough to help him clean it up, and they'd salvaged most of it. She'd been the one to suggest the rhinestone eyes.

_That had been her favorite carol, _he realized. He wondered if he'd ever find a way to think about her without it hurting. He hoped Noah was managing to deal with his own grief in a more constructive way than he had, at eight years old.

They turned in their packets to the last page, to sing one more carol before moving on to the next house. But before they could begin the first bars of O Holy Night, Kurt heard the strains of another instrument, drifting through the quiet street. They turned to one another, startled, then grew silent, listening. It was very faint at first, but definite, and grew louder with each bar. It was the sound of a guitar.

Finally Kurt could make out lyrics - and his heart stopped.

_I'll be home for Christmas  
><em>_You can count on me  
><em>_Please have snow and mistletoe  
><em>_And presents on the tree_

"Noah," he whispered.

And there he was, standing under the next streetlight over, his guitar strapped over his shoulder, calm as anything. Smiling at him. _At Kurt._

_Christmas Eve will find me  
><em>_Where the lovelight gleams  
><em>_I'll be home for Christmas  
><em>_If only in my dreams_

Kurt took a single step back, to steady himself. Quinn's arm was there, holding him up.

"Go on," she hissed. "Jesus. How many chances like this do you _get?"_

He was startled by the tears in her eyes, but he didn't care - Noah was here, he was _right here,_ and then Kurt was stumbling forward through the snow, pushing through the assembled Glee club, to stand before him.

"Baby," Puck said, his voice breaking. His strong arms went around Kurt and held him tight, as tight as he could, there in the snow.

"You're here," he murmured into Puck's neck, and he heard him laugh, and _god, _it was the sweetest sound in the world.

"I'm never leaving again," he rumbled. "Never. That totally _sucked."_

"You're telling me," said Kurt. He pulled back far enough to see Puck's hazel eyes, glittering in the lamplight, and touched his face with one gloved hand.

"You're really here?" he had to ask. "This - really? I don't want to have to pinch myself, but..."

"I think it's pretty safe to say I'm here," Puck said, grinning. "And I'm pretty sure we're about to get trampled by rampaging Glee members."

"Not yet," Kurt whispered. "I have one more thing I need to do."

He reached around Puck's neck and pulled him close, close enough to feel his shocked intake of breath on his lips before he kissed him. He thought he heard a strangled laugh from one of the girls, but he didn't care. _He didn't care._ This was Noah, and he was _home, _and that was all that mattered.

His memory of the rest of the evening was somewhat hazy. He recalled later that Mercedes had been there, holding his arm and supporting him and passing him tissue after tissue until he was done crying. He knew Noah had passed his guitar over to Artie to hold while he hugged everybody, one at a time, even _Brad._ And Finn had watched from the curb, not participating, but not running away either, with a half-smile on his face, and Kurt figured that was a good start.

There were a lot of questions, but Puck laughed and said, "I thought we were here to sing Christmas carols, yo?" And somebody gave him a packet, and they sang all five verses of We Three Kings, with Artie, Mr. Schue and Puck singing the three solos while the rest of the group hummed. Humming was about all Kurt could manage, anyway, and his handkerchief was totally soaked by the time he was halfway through the fourth verse.

Nobody said anything as they walked to stand under the next street light, but it was pretty clear they were winding down. Everybody wanted to talk to Puck, and Rachel had reached her tolerance level of cold. Even Quinn was shivering, and she said that hardly happened at all anymore.

"He looks good," Tina whispered to Kurt as they began the long trek back to Mercedes' house. Kurt nodded. Even though the circles under his eyes were more pronounced, and he'd lost a little weight, Noah actually _did._ He was smiling and talking to Matt, and it looked like Matt was managing to get through a question or two without falling to pieces on the sidewalk, so that was good.

"I think so," he said. "He met somebody."

She paused, staring at him in confusion. "What? You don't mean... what?"

"It's complicated," he said, biting his lip. "I think you can ask Mercedes for details. She knows a little bit about it. But - the most important thing is that he's _home."_

Tina gazed at Puck's laughing face, perplexed. "I suppose," she said. "But... Kurt? What about _you?"_ She dropped her voice to a whisper. "Aren't you jealous?"

Kurt's mind traveled back the eons of time that had passed since October, to the time he'd spent with Finn before he and Noah had even begun speaking to each other in civil tones. He remembered, with aching clarity, his first moments with Noah, on the couch with Finn. He remembered the morning in the kitchen at Noah's, when he'd made them breakfast, and he'd tried to run. _It had been so scary, then,_ he thought, and he realized he wasn't scared anymore. He thought about the love in Finn's face when he talked about Carl, and the way Puck's whole being had _changed. _He was better, because of this other man, Adam. Not because of Kurt. And yet - here Noah was. He'd wanted to come home anyway.

"No," Kurt said with certainty. "I'm not jealous. He's getting what he needs. And - he still loves me."

Tina watched him, tense with uncertainty, but he put a hand out to her, and she took it, smiling. "It's all right," he insisted. He thought it actually might be.

Finn trailed the group, Rachel walking beside him, talking quietly as they walked. Every now and then Kurt would turn and look at him, but he wasn't looking back. _This is going to be hard,_ Kurt thought. _And there's nothing I can do to make it easier for him._

It wasn't until they were standing in front of Mercedes' house, filing in two and three at a time to get the promised hot chocolate, that Finn stopped, waiting on the sidewalk. He watched Puck with silent eyes, his hands in his pockets, as he approached.

"Hey," said Puck. Kurt moved to go inside, but he added, "Kurt."

Kurt moved to stand close to him. "I'm here," he said. "What can I do?"

"Just... I don't want to be the only one here when I say this, okay?" He didn't take his eyes off Finn, but Finn was already looking at his shoes.

"Can't we do this at home?" Finn muttered, but Puck shook his head.

"You don't have to say anything, Finn, but listen." Puck touched Kurt's arm, and Kurt linked his arm through his. The tips of Puck's fingers were cold, but they squeezed Kurt's arm through his jacket, and it was comforting. Puck didn't look like he was any kind of nervous, but Kurt could feel him shaking where he touched his arm. It was hard to tell if it was because of the cold, or anxiety, or something else, but it didn't really matter.

"I'm sorry," Puck said.

Finn opened his mouth to say something, but Puck shook his head. "No, you said you'd_ listen. _ Just - shut up, okay?"

Finn's mouth closed, and he hunched in a little closer on himself. Finn could be compelling and powerful, but he didn't look particularly _anything_ right now, except scared and miserable.

"I'm sorry," Puck said again. "That I ever got to a point where lying to you was more important than being real. It was totally pointless, you know that? It was like... a game. How many lies could I tell you and see if you'd buy it?" He shook his head. "Totally fucking pointless."

Finn waited, his eyes still on the sidewalk, hands clenched tight in his pockets. Puck sighed.

"Anyway. I wanted you to know... I'm not going to do that anymore." He looked at Kurt. "To either of you. No more goddamn lies, okay? For real."

"Noah," Kurt said. Puck ignored him and turned back to Finn.

"I know what you're feeling," he said. "And I talked to Carl. He told me everything."

Finn's face jerked up to stare at Puck, his eyes red and shocked. "He - what?"

"Dude," Puck said gently. "It's okay."

Finn crossed his arms and took a deep breath. "I'm not sure how I feel about _you _telling me it's okay," he said. "It's a little weird."

"All of this is a little fucking weird, man," Puck said, with no trace of a smile. "Tell me my part in it isn't a _lot_ weird. Don't you think?"

Kurt watched him, and gave his arm a little tug. "We're on the sidewalk in front of Mercedes' house," he urged. "Let's take this back to my house."

"I'm not -" Finn began, but Puck interrupted.

"I don't have much more to say. Mostly I wanted to see you, to hear you. For you to see and hear me. I'm _happy,_ Finn. And I think you are, too."

Finn looked uncertain, which hurt Kurt's heart a little, but he saw him shift, to take a tentative breath, and finally to nod. Puck relaxed.

"Okay," he said. "That's good. I don't want you to worry about me, is all."

"We were _all _worried," Kurt said. "All of us - my dad, and Carole and Sarah. But you're home now."

"I'm home now," Puck echoed. He smiled at Kurt. "That's true. Not exactly the way you think, maybe. But - I am."

Puck let go of Kurt's arm and stepped forward toward Finn, who watched him approach with increasing alarm. But Puck just held out a hand.

"Cool, dude?" he murmured.

Finn stared at the hand for a long moment. Then he looked at Puck, right into his face. Kurt caught his breath at his expression. It was as sad as he'd ever seen Finn look.

"I'm not sure," he said. "I - I want to say yes. But I just don't know anymore."

Puck slowly lowered his hand.

"All right," snapped Kurt, and before either of them could do anything, he took two steps forward and gripped Puck's hand in his. He reached out and took Finn's in his other. "This has _got_ to stop. _Now._ You two were _best friends._ You can't tell me that's all gone - like it was never there?" He shook his head firmly. "No. Come on - take his hand. For god's sake, Finn, _take it."_

Finn did. They stood there, eyes locked, and Kurt waited until Puck's hand was held inside Finn's before he stepped back.

"Tell him," Kurt said.

"Tell him what?" Finn asked, and Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Finn," he said, in his most imperious voice, "_tell him."_

"I'm sorry," Finn said, and it was a bare whisper. But Kurt heard it, and so did Puck. He gripped Puck's hand tightly, so tight that Kurt knew it might hurt. But that was okay.

Puck nodded. "I guess I had to drive two thousand miles and fall in love with another guy before you could tell me that," he said. "And before I was ready to hear it. But I heard it." He leaned in, just a fraction of an inch, but it was enough to make Finn take a step back. He didn't get any closer.

"Are we cool?" Puck said again. He didn't let go of Finn's hand.

Kurt reached out and took Puck's other hand. Puck held it. Then he turned to Finn.

"No," Finn said, eyes wide, and he gave a little shake of his head, watching Kurt's hand come out toward him.

"Just take it," Kurt coaxed. "It's not - you don't have to do _anything._ Just - come on, I took a chance on this, once. Now it's your turn."

Finn's eyes moved from Kurt's open hand, to Puck, and finally to Kurt's face. "I just don't know," he said, on the edge of panic.

"That's okay," Kurt soothed. "I know. Let _me_ be certain, for once. All you have to do is take my hand."

Finn closed his eyes, took a deep breath - and held out his fingers, reaching. Kurt grasped them and held them safe. It was the three of them, there, together.

"We can't go back to the way things were," Kurt said. "But we can begin again."

Puck nodded, looking at Kurt. "I'm in."

"All right," Kurt said, and squeezed Finn's hand. "Finn?"

"What?" he whispered, his eyes still closed.

"Do you trust me?"

Finn's eyes opened, and Kurt watched all the feelings in the world pass over his face in the space of a few seconds. He saw confusion, and hope, and anxiety, and a good dose of anger. But there was also love, and, yes, trust.

"Yeah, I do," he said. "But I don't know if I trust _myself."_

"I know." Kurt gave their joined hands a little shake. "Let me take care of that, for now, okay?"

Finn paused one more moment, and then he nodded.

"People are going to wonder what the hell we're doing here on the sidewalk," Puck said, watching Kurt.

"I don't care what the hell they think," Kurt snapped, and Puck laughed. Finn's eyes widened.

"Really?" he said.

"Really," Kurt agreed. "We'll figure it out. I'm sick of lying. I'm sick of trying to pretend I'm something I'm not. I'm _done _with that."

Kurt dropped Finn's hand and stepped in under Puck's startled arm, cupping his face and kissing him squarely on the mouth. Puck made a noise, but it didn't sound like he was objecting. When Kurt stepped back, he just smiled, wide and pleased, and gave a little laugh.

"Okay," he said. "I can do that."

"Finn," Kurt said, and Finn only had a second to register what he was about to do before he did it. It wasn't enough time to run, or stop him, because Kurt was already inside the space between his arm and his chest, and his lips were on his. And Finn, whether from shock or from desperation or god knew what else - he was kissing back.

"I love you," Kurt said fiercely, gripping him around the waist. "I'm not going to let you go."

"I'm - I'm not going anywhere," Finn said, perplexed. Then he seemed to realize what he'd just said, and he glanced at Puck, their hands still joined. His face cleared. "I'm not," he said again.

"I'm not, either," said Puck softly. Kurt backed out of Finn's space and, with an irritated sigh, gave him a little _push_ toward Puck. Finn stumbled a few steps, then stopped.

"I'm not," said Finn. He looked like he'd had a revelation. He gazed at their joined hands.

Puck watched him do it. Then he smiled. "Yeah?"

Finn let his hand go, and for a moment Kurt thought he might try to run. Instead, with great deliberation, he closed the remaining distance between himself and Puck. His eyes were full now, still brimming with all the confusion and hope and everything else Kurt had seen before - but now the love was first.

"Okay," he said, quietly, with such tenderness that Kurt felt himself breaking open inside. "It's okay. I'm in."

"Finn," Puck said, and that was all he got out, before Finn's mouth closed on his. Kurt gasped, but it was over as quickly as it had begun. Finn took a step away, watching Puck's face with intense focus.

"Can you live with me not being sure all the time?" he said. "I don't know how that's going to be for us. I'm - I'm different. And I'm trying to figure it out."

"I'm different, too, man," Puck said, shaking his head. "I don't care about that." He pulled Kurt in, against his chest, and held him close. "This is what I need." Then he reached out for Finn with his other hand with a satisfied sigh. "Yeah."

"Yes," Kurt said, letting his eyes fall closed, feeling Finn's warmth, close behind him. It had been so long since he'd felt _this, _the heat, the connection, of the three of them. He'd forgotten - he couldn't believe he'd forgotten - how much he needed it.

When Kurt opened them again, his eyes focused on the house, on the window, and he realized the horrified face in the window was _Mike._ But he really couldn't muster a lot of worry about that. This was where he belonged - right here, between his two boys. Labels didn't matter much at the moment. This was _home._

"I love you," he sighed.

"I'm here, baby," said Puck, and Finn whispered, "Me, too."

The words were all for one another, and it was exactly right.

* * *

><p>Mike dragged his feet on the way up Mercedes' front walk, hanging back between the crowd of everyone else and the silence of Puck, Kurt and Finn behind him.<p>

He felt odd, like that time he'd taken a helmet square to his chest and had the breath knocked out of him. Seeing Kurt and Puck, _kissing_, well. He'd tried not to stare, because his mother always cuffed the side of his head when she caught him doing it. Even now, when he towered over her, she somehow managed to do it. And that was _really_ embarrassing.

But. Puck and Kurt _kissing_? He'd seen lots of things at church retreats and Asian Camp, and not a lot bothered him. He was a pretty even-keeled guy. But he'd never seen anything like that because his parents _still_ only let him watch PBS. And what surprised him more than the act was that it _hadn't bothered him. _At _all_.

In fact, he thought that maybe, he kind of liked it a little bit.

He bounced up the last of the steps, shedding his coat as he stepped into the warm inside of the Jones' living room. Everyone was settling into couches, chairs, and the floor with mugs of cocoa and paper plates of cookies, and by the time Mike had topped his mug with whipped cream and picked through the plate of cookies for a chocolate-covered peanut butter ball and a gingerbread man, the best seats were taken.

Mike didn't mind. Sometimes, people were hard for him. That just gave him an excuse to settle on the piano bench near the window.

An excuse to keep a sideways eye on the three boys under the streetlight at the end of the walk.

He'd wondered, honestly, about Puck and Finn, because part of people being hard meant that Mike spent most of his time _watching_. And he'd seen the way they were together, like they needed each other to breathe. He'd been surprised, actually, when Kurt came out to all of them, but he figured maybe he'd just read _Finn_ wrong.

But what he was seeing, he almost couldn't grasp it.

His brain went around and around in circles, from the certainty of Puck and Kurt to the crush everyone knew Kurt had on Finn, and the way he'd seen Finn and Puck be with each other, always friends but with _something else_ there, hiding.

He almost gasped when it all crashed into his head. _It's the three of them_, he suddenly understood.

_It's beautiful_, he thought.

_Oh._ And that last little piece, fluttering.

_Boys. What if I-_ no. No. He couldn't. He'd never- he was sixteen. He liked _girls_. He'd always liked girls.

But he couldn't take his eyes off the three, couldn't shake the image of Puck and Kurt.

Couldn't deny the breathlessness and warmth and the _light_ he'd felt in his body when he'd watched them.

He had no reference point for this.

He half-heartedly nibbled at his gingerbread man, lost in his head, and almost dropped his plate when Tina was suddenly soft and gentle and _in his space_.

"Are they okay out there?" She was whispering under the wild din of the room.

"I-I think so." Mike nodded and gripped his plate tighter.

"Good." She tucked herself onto the bench next to him and tilted her head slightly to peer out of the window without drawing attention to herself.

Mike waited a few seconds, and then he felt her turn back towards him. "_Oh_," she said, and Mike grasped at her hand.

"Yeah." His voice felt funny, choked and thick.

"It makes sense, you know." Tina sounded matter of fact. "I'm kind of not surprised."

"Me, either, oddly enough."

"Hey," Tina said, bumping him with her shoulder. "You okay? Because you sound, well. Not okay."

"I, um." Mike didn't even know how to explain that it wasn't so much that things were wrong, they just weren't _right_. "No. No. I'm not okay."

"I'm a good listener," Tina said, and Mike couldn't help but leaning close to her.

People were hard, but Tina was easy, probably because they'd know each other from church since they were practically in the nursery together. "I'm not- there's nothing. Um. I can't. Not yet." Mike hated stammering, because it made his father frown in that disappointed way he had.

"Okay. But I'm here, when you're ready."

"I know," Mike nodded, slumping over to rest his head on her shoulder.

He didn't look outside again.

* * *

><p>Burt sighed and pushed the paperwork to the side. It was the last form he'd deal with tonight. It seemed ridiculous that so much of what he was doing for Sarah had to do with papers. There was a huge amount of work to do around getting her acclimated to her new home, and dealing with the grief of losing her mother, not to mention everything about her father, and yet there was still all this damn <em>paperwork.<em>

"You about done _now?"_ Carole said, smiling at him. She had a glass of wine in her hand, and the second one she placed on the table next to him. "Ready for this?"

"God, yes," he said, pressing into his eyes. "I'm not done, but I'm _done,_ you know what I mean?"

"It'll still be there tomorrow," she said, holding out a hand. He pushed the chair out from the dining room table, stacking the papers in the corner, and took her hand.

"I'm afraid that's true." He let her pull him into the curve of her arm and lead him into the living room. Sarah was sitting on the couch, her feet tucked in under herself, watching the little television they had upstairs. It was an old Tweety Bird cartoon. Sarah looked absurdly young there on the couch, in a way he didn't think he'd seen from her before.

"It's happening," he said, almost to himself. "She's going to be my kid. And even as I'm doing it, I'm thinking I'm too old for this, to start over again with another kid. Especially one like this, one who needs so much. Not to mention Puck - god, _Puck._" He shook his head. "How can I possibly give _him_ what he needs?"

"You're going to be great," Carole insisted, touching his back. "Sarah's already trusting you, just in these few weeks. She's getting just what she needs. You don't have to be anything other than what you are."

Burt turned to Carole with frank admiration. "See, this is why I love you so much," he said, kissing her cheek. She colored and accepted the comment with a smile.

"Thanks." Her arm around his waist tightened. "There's lots going on. Sarah... Puck's come home..." She quieted, looking pensive, and he ran his knuckles along the skin of her cheek.

"Finn's going to be okay," he said. She nodded.

"I'm trying not to worry, but he's been so up and down lately. Dealing with Puck's absence, and now this new... man?" She gave a shaky laugh. "I'm not sure how to handle that."

"Same way you've handled Finn all your life. Fairly, with love and respect. Nothing's different. He's a testament to your parenting." He raised an eyebrow at her light snort. "What's that for?"

"Burt. Finn's in a relationship with _two other boys,_ and now _another man_ more than twice his age." Her laugh caught in her throat. "You're one of the only people I know who'd say Finn turned out okay."

"Hey." He gave her a stern look. "Anyone who would say differently doesn't know Finn like I do. He's a hell of a young man."

She sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder. "And that's why I love _you."_

Then they heard a commotion on the porch, and the door rattled and burst open to admit three - _three -_ laughing, smiling boys. Puck had his hand in Kurt's, and his other arm was around Finn, and Burt nearly fell to pieces at the ecstatic expression on his son's face.

"Guess who's home," Kurt beamed, and Sarah scrambled up off the couch and shot right into Puck's arms.

There was a lot of hugging and story-telling after that, as much as they could cram into one evening, all six of them listening to the tale of Puck's expedition to Denver and Santa Fe. Burt had to bite his lip more than once at the amount of information he was learning all at once about Puck's sexual preferences, but Puck just looked at him hard as if to say, _you asked._ And nothing he was saying seemed to be a surprise to Sarah; she just listened and made comments about Adam's video and his upcoming appearance on Ellen.

Puck and Kurt were as close as ever, but the most surprising thing was the way Puck and Finn seemed to be reconnecting. It wasn't exactly as though nothing had happened between the two of them. Rather, it was as though they were creating a new relationship, one that felt significantly different than the way they'd been together before. Burt couldn't quite put a finger on what was different, but Carole made a keen observation that helped him pinpoint what was going on.

"Puck's more confident, more comfortable in himself," she said, regarding them from the dining room. "Do you see it?"

"Huh," said Burt. He watched as Puck, talking with Sarah, leaned against Finn's side, almost casually, and Finn accepted this easy touch. "They seem comfortable _together."_

"Yes," Carole said, "but something's different between them."

"They're both going through big changes. There's bound to be differences in the way they are together, and alone." Burt shook his head. "I'm not sure what it is."

Carole and Burt watched for another minute, seeing those casual touches of reconnection, and Kurt smiling at the two of them, and the way Kurt and Puck gazed into each other's eyes.

_Kurt needed this,_ Burt thought, and all his fears about Puck and Sarah and Adam and Carl were quelled, just for a moment, in the sight of the three of them together. He smiled. _ My family's a hell of a lot more complicated than it used to be, but - I needed this, too._


	36. Chapter 36 Kurt and Tess lost scene

_(Author's note: this is a lost scene between Tess and Kurt on the phone. We didn't originally write it, but Tess said she was going to call him and then there was a request for that conversation. In this scene, Puck has just left Tessera and is driving home. I'm in the midst of writing the conclusion of the reunion scene between the three boys - and a futurefic Gold Mine chapter! - but in the meantime, enjoy. -amy)_

* * *

><p><strong>Mon. Dec 21 (the day of Puck's return to Lima)<strong>

Tess sighed as she keyed back into her quarters, contemplating just how tired she was. It wouldn't be a stretch to take Carl's suggestion and go back to bed, let herself sleep for a while. She hadn't expected to be doing much else, not on the first day of one of the longest closures Tessera had scheduled in a number of years.

As she reclined against her pillows, she found herself preoccupied with thoughts of all of those _boys_, plundering around like awkward baby giraffes, getting tangled up in one another's hearts. It wasn't a bad thing, but it was most certainly going to be _messy._ She reassured herself that Puck was in a good state of mind, and so was Carl - and she'd have Carl back safely with her soon - if he didn't return, she'd simply go fetch him, she thought to herself. Finn... well, she was going to rely on Carl, and trust her boy to take care of Finnegan. So that left Kurt.

Kurt, who would feel lonely, with both of his lovers mooncalfing over new loves. Dominant, all encompassing loves.

Tess sighed again, and got back up, grumbling to herself as she went to the kitchen to make a proper pot of tea. She'd have to check in on James, and spend more time with Davis, getting to know that man, too, if James was so enamoured of him. Her favorite wooden tea tray was clean, and in place so she gently set the pot of tea on it, laying the cup and accessories out properly, carrying it with her back to the window seat in her room. She gazed out over the beautifully snowy courtyard, feeling calm.

And then she fished her phone out of her pocket, scrolling through the contacts there. There it was, she saw with relief, the land line to the Hummel household, which Burt had gladly given her some weeks ago. She took a deep breath and dialed.

She could tell it was Kurt who answered the phone. His light tone sounded tired. "No, she's dead, this is her son."

Tess was floored for a moment, and then her temper took hold. "Kurt Hummel," she said tartly. "That is not particularly respectful, considering what Noah has just gone through."

"Who is this?"

"Tess Riordan," she barked, barely restraining herself from adding her rank before her name. She shook her head, trying to brush back the flashback to her smartmouthed Jesse years ago.

Kurt's tone changed entirely; now he sounded abashed. "Oh - Tess, I'm so sorry. I didn't expect - I mean, nobody calls this number. Jeez. Um, can I help you with something?"

Tess got a firm grip on her slightly frayed temper and wondered if she should have waited until she'd had a little more sleep to call. "All the same, Kurt," she suggested. "I called to speak with you, dear. I'm afraid I don't have your direct number."

"Me?" he squeaked. "All - all right. What can I do for you?"

Her face softened, though Kurt wouldn't be able to see that. "I wanted to make certain that you were all right, Kurt. I've spoken to both Noah, and to Carl," she told him firmly. "And my concern, young man, is _you._"

"_Noah_ - was he okay? I mean, I talked to him yesterday... he's supposed to be on his way home, but I haven't -"

"Sweetheart, he's fine," she told the boy compassionately. "He's on the road right now, Kurt. It's all right. He seems steadier than the last time I spoke with him, if that helps."

His sigh of relief was almost palpable. "God. Thank you. This whole week has had me on edge, I can't even tell you. He's coming home, and... and we'll work out the rest."

"Yes, you will, Kurt. He loves you very much."

"Um - I love him, too." She could hear the smile. "Is there something else?"

She reminded herself not to sigh, and to be very gentle with the sensitive boy. "Yes, dearheart. I know how very complicated relationships like yours can be, Kurt. And I'm aware that Noah, in his own unique way, has added an additional complication. As has Finn."

"Finn - wow, you sure are informed. That's _really _new." He sounded impressed. "Oh, that's right, Carl was coming to visit you, wasn't he?"

Tess chuckled. "That's right. Carl and I have known one another for a very long time, honey. We talked in some depth about the situation, and Noah surprised me with his information shortly thereafter."

He sighed softly. "He told you about... Adam."

"Yes, he did," she replied calmly. "I wanted to know how _you_ are faring, Kurt. Will you talk with me? If you'd rather not..."

"Oh," he said again, in a different tone. "I'm, um, flattered? Seriously. I don't think you need to bother with me. I'm all right."

"_Bother _with you?" Her tone was astonished. "Oh, darling. You will never, ever be a bother to me. Of course I'm worried about you, Kurt."

"Tess... I don't... " There were tears lurking there, just under the surface, and Tess knew they needed to come out eventually, in their own time. For now, she was just going to take care of him as best as she could, over the phone.

"Come now, sweetie. Get yourself a glass of water, and go somewhere comfy, will you? Maybe under a warm blanket?"

"Okay," he said. "My dad... he makes me warm milk. Maybe I should make some of that."

"That sounds like a very good idea to me. My chef spoils me like that frequently."

She could hear his soft footfalls as he padded toward the kitchen. "It's been... confusing, I guess. When Noah left, Finn kind of fell apart. We didn't see him for a couple days, and that left me, and my dad, and Carole - Finn's mom?"

"Yes, I met Carole when I visited, Kurt."

"Oh, yes. I forgot that. We were on our date, me and Finn." He sighed. "These last couple of days, though, Finn seemed to - wake up. He came home... um." She could almost _hear_ the blush.

"Yes?"

"Well, he had been to visit Carl. In his office. I don't know if I can tell you about that. But he learned... things. To help me. You know?"

"I do. If you are comfortable to tell me how he helped you, that will not compromise confidentiality, and I should take the opportunity to remind you that _our_ conversations are confidential, sweetheart, unless you're putting yourself in danger - and it won't be Finn or Noah I'm talking to at that point, it'll be your father."

"No, there's no danger, really," he hastened to assure her. She could hear the sounds of clanking pots, and the click of the stove turning on, the fridge door opening and closing. "It's just... I haven't talked to any grownups about this stuff. At all. It's a little embarrassing."

"I didn't think there was any danger, Kurt," she told him quietly. "And I'm right here for you, if you like. You're well aware of what I do for a living, sweetie, yes?"

"Yes... I suppose it's just psychological. I get nervous just thinking about telling _anybody_." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I'm pretty sure nobody would understand about the... the spanking thing. I mean, half the time _I _don't even understand, and I'm the one _doing it._"

"Some people just need to be spanked, love. It's perfectly normal. I've been mentoring boys for years, Kurt. Including spanking the dickens out of them, if that's what they need. You're fine, Kurt, whether it is knowing when someone needs to be spanked, or needing your own bottom warmed. And I'll say it again, this is confidential, young man. Spanking is not dangerous, what you tell me is between you, and me, period." She knew perfectly well that if the spanking got into extreme realms that his extremely astute father would notice.

"All right," he said, still sounding reluctant. "Well. Finn - he'd been really hurting, I could tell, pulling away from me, from everyone. And then things just... _changed._ He was himself again." Kurt gave a gentle laugh, like he was surprised by this. "And the two of us, he... he was more affectionate; he knew what I needed. He told me it was Carl, that he'd taught him things, and it helped him see me more clearly."

"That makes sense," she said comfortingly. "Carl is a good Top, Kurt. And..." She hesitated. "He understands how deep a part of the equation you are - he will be considering your needs, Kurt, even if he isn't attending to them personally. If Finn talks to him about things, Carl will consider what he's told, and advise Finn gently - especially when it comes to you. Does that make sense?"

"Yes," he said, with emphasis. "Yes, that's exactly it. I felt like Carl was taking care of _me, _even though he never actually did anything with me. It was - pretty amazing, actually. I felt grateful." She heard the clink of a spoon against a mug. "I think I need to tell him that."

"Carl would appreciate that, Kurt, when you're ready."

"But now... did Carl tell you about... about Finn? Because..." He went silent for a moment. "I think they're... I mean, he's so much older than Finn, but he - "

Tess sighed heavily. "He is older, Kurt. He's not a man who trusts, or forms attachments easily. That's why he frightened Noah so much that day in the office - he's usually very remote with his subs. I see hundreds of relationships, within the club, and outside of it as well. I must confess to you that I don't see age as a barrier to the depth of care and love that Carl feels for Finn."

There was a pause. Kurt could have been drinking his milk, or possibly wiping his eyes, she couldn't tell. But she knew him well enough, through Noah and Carl and Burt, to know he was a sensitive boy, and she allowed him his space to recover himself.

"I saw that, too," he said quietly. "I heard them talk on the phone, and it was... god. It made me feel like crying. I'm not sure why."

"I believe you felt the depth of the emotion there, and responded to it. Kurt... I know that you're gay, little love. There certainly will not be the sort of sexual connection that Finn and Noah are experiencing, but darling, one of the reasons why I've phoned is to tell you I would very much like to be there for _you_, if you need me. Does that make sense, honey?"

"Yes... yes, and that's... um. Really amazing of you. I can't even tell you." Now she definitely did hear a sniffle over the phone. "Thank you."

"Is that warm milk, ready to drink, that I hear in the background here?"

"I'm halfway done," he said, giggling.

"Well, I'm a little clueless. One of the boys my adoptive father mentored is the chef here, and he spoils me terribly. Tell me how you do this, because it's a little vague for me."

"Um... about how to make warm milk?" He sounded baffled.

"Exactly, love. James won't tell me what spices he puts into it, shameless boy that he is."

"I just sprinkle something on top. Sometimes it's cinnamon - Noah likes that. Or allspice, or nutmeg. Or some honey. It's just the milk, really. My dad always made it for me when I would wake up in the middle of the night and need to talk."

"That's the best kind, isn't it? My father always made me tea - I have a cup of his favorite right here with me. The man is a barbarian, Kurt, it's English Breakfast." She fondly pictured Kurt standing in the Hummel kitchen, cosy and small, with Kurt hovering in that tentative way of his over the stove. She wished she could ask Burt to make the comforting drink for him, but this conversation, it was too deep for that, it wouldn't do for Kurt to feel as if Burt knew what they were discussing, in any way.

"Noah likes darjeeling." His voice was so wistful. She so wanted to fold him into her arms and tell him everything would be all right, but this was complicated in so many ways. It was going to take time, and patience, and a hell of a lot of luck, for the three of those boys to come through it intact.

"That's a lovely tea. I find I'm fond of it myself. Is your milk finished, honey?"

"I'm done now."

"Will you take that to your bedroom with you and settle down while we talk? Would that be all right?"

"That would be nice," he said.

"There's a love," she replied comfortably. "This is my first day off for the holiday, and I'll confess to you that I'm holed up in my own bedroom right now. What's your favorite thing about your room? The thing that feels the nicest?"

"My duvet." There was no hesitation. "It's warm. I like to wrap up in it. On the couch, I have a fleece blanket, but it's not the same. It's not - not as heavy."

"What does your duvet look like? I'm a bit of a hedonist myself, Kurt. Mine is dark blue velvet, and there's a layer of black lace over top of that. It's quite heavy, I get cold in the winter."

"That sounds so pretty," he said, sounding a little envious. "Mine's down filled, with a cream colored cover. The thread count is high, though."

"So it's soft and _very_ warm, then," she said, softening her voice. "What else is around you that feels good?"

Kurt paused for a moment. "I usually wear my white fleece robe when I'm reading in bed."

"How pretty," Tess told him softly. "It took me years and years to get my bedroom to be properly comforting - the furniture took _miles_ of walking antique shows on days off, to find. What else do you see, darling?"

"Um... this is kind of embarrassing." He cleared his throat. "I have this stuffed doll. Ernie, from Sesame Street."

"Oh," she said with some surprise.

"It was kind of a joke. My dad's name is Burt, see, and when I was a little boy we used to say that he was Bert, the tall one, and I was Ernie."

"That's lovely, Kurt." She giggled just a little, very softly, listening to his intake of breath at the sound. "Now, you're _not _ to mention this to anyone - much less your boys or Carl," she suggested, purposefully leaving Burt's name from the list. "But my papa gave me a Snufflupagus, a very long time ago. I helped him to watch out for some children for a few weeks, who belonged to one of his boys." She smiled fondly. "He mentors soldiers, who are trying to find jobs when they discharge from the military, Kurt. And he saw how much I liked the Snufflupagus, and he made sure I had one of my own, years later. He's still here with me in my bedroom." It was true, though Snuffy was in her drawer, along with other items that drew poignant memories for her, rather than among her pillows, as Kurt might be thinking.

"Oh... Tess." She smiled to herself as the tears that had been threatening finally had a chance to fall. "That's really sweet. I mean, it's such a coincidence that... wow." He sniffed and blew his nose. "Sorry. I'm a little on edge, I guess."

"There's my boy," she murmured soothingly. "You're all right, little love. I want you to know that I'm right here for you, whenever you need me. You don't need to worry about the hour, or the length of time, honey, I'm right here for you. Will you tell me about what's bothering you?" Her compassion for the boy welled up inside of her, the magnitude of his hurt filling her, thinking of the sweet young man hiding in his room, with all the comforts he could muster around him, childish or not. In that moment she blessed Burt for the care he'd taken with his sensitive son, that Kurt still had such simple defenses against the world, and she loved the boy all the more for that.

"I'm scared," he said, his voice cracking. He paused and tried again. "There's so much happening. I sometimes forget what my life was like, just three months ago. I'd never even kissed another person before this fall. I wasn't out to anyone - hardly even myself. And trust me, my... my fantasies were pretty much confined to holding hands and dancing a little too close." He laughed, the tears thick in his voice. "And now... I'm responsible for this incredible boy. Somebody who was tossing me into dumpsters on a daily basis in September. And I love him more than I ever thought possible."

Tess noted the information with narrowed eyes, reminding herself to have a sit-down conversation with Noah, but she didn't want to distract him away from how his heart was feeling by asking for details. "That's an incredible feeling, love like that, isn't it?"

"Oh, you have no idea. I never thought anyone could need me like that. Or even that I'd want it. But I do - so much. It gives me something... well, I guess _you _understand."

"Yes, I do," she said softly. He laughed, but she didn't think it was happy laughter. "And I know it hurts sometimes too."

"I miss him a lot," he whispered. "I'm not used to... to needing people. It's just easier not to get that close. But Noah... and Finn. I need both of them. I mean, in completely different ways."

"Kurt, everyone needs people. Everyone. And even though it might be easier to _not _get that close, it's certainly not healthier. And it's perfectly understandable that you feel differently about the two of them - they're both very different people, and relating to them is going to summon different things from you. I know it may feel the same, because the love is so strong, but I suspect you love them in very different ways - and that's all right."

"Yes. I've loved Finn for a lot longer... before he even knew I existed, even. When he came out to me - that was the most unbelievable experience. I really never expected... and then we became friends, and I... " He sighed. "I pretty much threw myself at him. It was risky, but I couldn't _not_ do it. I knew how he felt about Puck - about Noah. And I didn't _care._ I wanted - I wanted him so much." The last word was lost in a sob.

Tess sighed, too. "Love is always a gamble, when people first throw their cards on the table."

"And then he told me - he sang me a song, and said he loved me, and he said... I could choose. And that he chose _me._ And Noah. I didn't believe him for a while, but... it was exactly right. The three of us, together... it's been beyond anything I ever imagined."

"When feelings like that go very deep, Kurt, it means that any pain involved is very deep, too. And it's all right to talk about the pain, just as much as it is to talk about the love."

"I guess you're right." She heard his sniffing trail off. "And now... Noah with Adam, and Finn with C-carl... it's like it's starting all over again, but just for them. And I'm being left behind." He made a noise of frustration. "Which is _stupid,_ because I still have both of them. I know they still love me. I do."

Tess heard the stammer and frowned. "You are not being left behind, sweetie. Do you remember how it felt when your heart opened up to let Noah inside, too? After Finn told you how he felt?"

Kurt was silent for a moment. "I remember I was scared. And I tried to run - I told Finn I couldn't do it, and... Noah, he stopped me. He told me he understood, and he showed me - he made me realize, that was the first moment, when he wanted me to take care of him." His voice sounded far away. "It was incredible. I felt... like maybe it was possible. That we could do that - we could do anything, if we were together."

"Yes. Their hearts are opening up right now too, just like that, and they will need you more than ever, little love. What is it about Finn that has you so nervous right now?"

"Finn... he gives me something. He's my Top? Maybe? It's more complicated than that. But I need him. He's been so attentive, so loving and - _god,_ I just forgot I needed those things. And now, now that I know I need them, I'm even more scared of losing them."

Tess nodded. "That's what I meant, Kurt, when I said earlier that as deep as love goes, pain goes just as deep. Fear is a kind of pain. It's like disease that creeps into a wound, and it must be taken care of, not left to breed infection, where it will hurt you more. You must be brave enough to confront those fears, Kurt. Talk these things over with Finn - and talk to Carl, as well. Honesty and openness, in a relationship like yours, they are very critical - you mustn't try to hide your fear from Finn, even though you love him so much, and your need to see him be happy is so deep that you're able, with your generous heart, to let him love Carl."

"Oh," he said, startled. "I guess - I mean, I'm not _letting_ him. It's good for Finn. He needs that, too, just like I do."

"Yes, he does, Kurt. And in a way, you are letting him - your actions right now are telling him that you love him so much, that he should do what he needs to, to be happy. Most people aren't that generous with their love, Kurt - most people would snatch their love away, try to protect it rather than be giving, and go back to being alone, instead of taking the kind of steps, the sort of risk to themselves that you're taking right now. I think that's one of the most beautiful things about you, love, that big heart of yours."

"That's really sweet of you to say." He laughed, and it sounded easier now. "I don't always feel so generous. Sometimes I just want him all for myself."

"And that's all right too," she said gently. "And when that happens, you have every right to ask him for that - to ask him for time, just for the two of you, where you aren't talking or focusing on Carl, or even Noah, where it's all about how Kurt feels about Finn, and how Finn feels about Kurt, and what you are when you are with one another. You _do_ deserve that, Kurt."

"Finn had us each go on dates," he said. "Two of each of us, together. And that was really nice. But - he said we also need time, the three of us. And I don't know if we're ever going to have that again."

"I think that might need time in another sense, Kurt. The relationship has been wounded by lies, and harsh actions - it's going to need time to heal, just like a bruise needs time to heal on your body. You will need to be careful with it, protective, and loving. And it will grow strong again, if you all take that care. Don't worry so much, little love, just love them."

"I can do that." His voice was just a whisper. "I don't think I can do anything else."

"I know. I want you to know that I am right here for you. You're not alone, and you can call me any time you like, if it helps."

"Thank you... so much. I didn't even know I was thinking half these things." He yawned.

"Perhaps you might like to curl up with your blanket, and Ernie, little love. You sound so tired, so sleepy, maybe you'll sleep for a while?"

"That sounds nice," came the sleepy mumble. "Maybe a little while."

"There you are," she replied with satisfaction. "I'll stay until you're sleeping, sweet boy. I'm right here for you, you're not alone."


	37. Chapter 37

_(Author's note: Oh, my OT3, home again at last - with complications. For those of you who have a hard time suspending disbelief at the weirdness that is polyamory, let me assure you that yes, it really is this crazy. And we love it that way. Warnings for boysex and excessive use of ellipses and dashes. Enjoy. –amy)_

* * *

><p>The family feeling carried the six of them far into the evening, quite a long while after Kurt's dad normally would have called it a night. Carole didn't say one word about leaving, and Kurt guessed she probably wouldn't. Kurt felt oddly calm about this.<p>

Puck had his guitar out before too long, playing them some of Adam's songs, and Kurt got to see that starstruck expression Finn often wore when Puck played for him. It made him a little dizzy and tingly all over to witness it now, and he found himself tearing up.

"Baby," Puck said, pausing between stanzas to touch his arm.

"No – no, I'm fine," Kurt assured him, wiping his face. "Believe me, I've cried more times in the past two weeks than I have since my mom... but this time it really _is_ okay. I'm just – happy." He leaned against Finn, into the crook of his arm, and felt a little more calm just to be within the shelter of that embrace.

Puck sighed, leaning his cheek on his guitar, gazing at the two of them. "Me, too," he said. "I mean, the happy, yeah, but – the crying, too. I did a hell of a lot of that myself."

"So did I," said Finn quietly, and Puck stared at him in shock. Finn laughed uneasily. "Really. I was a total mess."

"He didn't even leave his room for four days," Kurt affirmed. "And I'm pretty sure I don't want to know how you did that without completely trashing your room."

Finn shrugged. "Trust me, my mom made me vacuum and do _all _the laundry before I went back to school. And, _gross._ I came out to use the bathroom. And once to get the CD you left for me, Kurt. I heard you, talking to me through my door."

Kurt nodded, looking at his feet. "It was just that once. Your mom was there to take care of you. I figured you mostly wanted to be left alone."

"Dude," Puck said, with a quizzical expression. "Burt told me you just about wore out one of my Indigo Girls CDs. And the Neil Diamond set, from the box? That was my dad's. His favorites, burned to CD." He grinned at Finn. "That's kind of warped: you, listening to my dad's music to feel better."

Finn shook his head, looking mildly disgusted by this idea. "Well, wherever they came from, I think I've got them all memorized by now."

"Really?" Puck laughed. "No shit." He strummed a few thoughtful chords, then, watching Finn's face closely, began to play. Finn's eyes widened a fraction as he vamped the opening progression.

"Come on," he said softly. "I'll sing with you."

"Jesus," Finn muttered, and almost unwilling, the two of them began:

_It was more than a matter of knowing  
><em>_All the words were finally said  
><em>_It was more than the coming or going  
><em>_Or the things that remain in your head  
><em>_It was more than a matter of wanting  
><em>_Or needing the foolish things I gave you_

_As if I ever cared to make you cry  
><em>_Could have been right, you know that it was  
><em>_And yet you knew that I was sorry  
><em>_I dared to make you cry  
><em>_As if I would, as if I could, as if I tried_

Kurt had to admit, it was incredibly apropos, and even somewhat pretty - even if it _was_ Neil Diamond. But what really got him was Puck and Finn singing, together, a song that spoke of their own deep fears and sorrows. He didn't think he'd ever seen Finn quite so vulnerable. Finn held tight to Kurt's hand as he poured his voice out into the basement room. When that song concluded, Puck chose another one, and without scarcely a pause, they continued:

_You got to take your time now  
><em>_If love is gonna take you by the hand  
><em>_You need to take your time though  
><em>'_Cause love is not a thing you can command_

_There's got to be a reason, got to be a closeness  
><em>_It's got to have a feeling only you can know_

_And when you find love, hold on tight  
><em>_Don't ever waste another night  
><em>_You're gonna make it through in spite of your fears…_

As they finished the second song, Kurt saw Sarah creep partway down the staircase and sit on the step, watching them through the hand rail. He beckoned for her to join them, but she shook her head. Kurt could see she was singing along with the third one:

_If I lost my way, would you stand with me  
><em>_Would you love me still and care for what I need  
><em>_If I lost my way  
><em>_If I lost the faith to face up to the test, would I let you down  
><em>_Would you love me less if I lost my way_

Puck didn't take his eyes off Finn through the whole song, and Finn just got redder and more fragmented until eventually he stopped singing entirely, staring at his hands.

"I, uh," said Puck, "I wouldn't, you know. I don't. Love you any less."

Finn nodded silently as Kurt stroked his shoulder. He leaned forward to rest his head against Finn's back, listening to his shaky breathing, feeling his warmth through his sweater. "Don't worry," Kurt said. "It's better. It's already so much better. You'll get what you need."

"I don't even know what I need anymore," Finn said, his voice low and hurting. "Everything's upside down. I feel like I'm turning into a different person. I mean, Puck... if I can't give _you_ what you need, what kind of a… a Top am I? And this, with Carl… I didn't even _know_ I wanted that."

"But you do, right?" Puck meditatively ran his fingers over the neck of his guitar. "You do want it? I mean, he's not talking you into anything…?"

Finn looked wounded. "No," he said. "If anything, I'm the one who's –" He stopped himself, closing his eyes. "No. _Not_ talking me into anything."

"So it's cool, right?" said Puck. He was calm and rational, but Finn was getting more and more wound up. Puck's eyebrows crowded down around his nose. "It's not, is it?" he asked Kurt.

"It's going to take time," Kurt said. He thought about what Tess had said: _just like a bruise needs time to heal on your body, you will need to be careful with it, protective, and loving… and it will grow strong again._ "We need to take care of each other, even when things go wrong. Even when we make mistakes. Family doesn't give up on each other."

"No," said Finn. He looked up at Puck suddenly, across the couch, and shot out a hand to grab his wrist. Puck looked startled, but he took Finn's hand and hung on. "I don't… I don't want that. No matter what I said, Puck, you've got to believe that I don't want that."

"Okay, man, it's all right," Puck assured him. "I do. I believe that."

"I thought… the baby," Finn started, then closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, then tried again. "Your daughter. I thought it would be better for you if you didn't have her. But I was wrong. I was wrong about how I handled it, and I should have trusted you when you told me that. You tried, but I didn't… I wouldn't…"

"It's okay," Puck said again. "I got it. I didn't trust _you_ enough to tell you what was really going on. That was my fault. And… well, Adam took care of that. You don't have to worry about that." Puck's smile spoke volumes about what was going on behind those words. Kurt remembered Puck's expression being very similar to that, when he used to look at Finn.

_But it wasn't, anymore,_ he thought, with dawning understanding. _He doesn't see Finn that way. Not like that. _The love was there, and something like friendship, or at least the beginning of one, but _something_ was absent. And Puck didn't seem to be missing it. _Because of Adam?_

Puck turned his smile on Kurt. "I'm going to be a papa," he said. "Soon, now. She's mine. I already love her like nothing else." He turned to Finn, still holding his hand, and his voice was vehement. "I swear to God, Finn, I'm going to take good care of her. You don't have to worry about that, either."

He turned back to Kurt again. "But I can't do it alone," he said. "I know I can't. I need help. I'm going to need your help."

"Mine?" Kurt blurted, startled. He imagined a tiny creature in Puck's arms, crying, demanding his time, keeping him from sleep. It was more than a little terrifying. "I don't know anything about taking care of babies, Noah."

"Well, me either," Puck said, shrugging. "But people figure it out, all the time. And I've got all kinds of people who can help. Your mom, for one, Finn. And Burt, and Sarah. And you, Finn."

Finn was still watching in silence. He looked a little wary, but he wasn't upset. "Me."

"Yeah, you," Puck said softly. "I still love you, man. Like nobody else. You're one of my oldest friends. You gave me – exactly what I needed."

Finn's expression was painfully sad. "I don't know if I can give you that anymore, Puck," he said, nearly in a whisper. "And I don't know what to do with that. I don't know what it means. For us. For me."

"I know," Puck said, nodding. "Like Kurt said, it's something we can figure out together, okay? I'm not giving up on you."

Finn winced like he'd been slapped, but he recovered himself, met Puck's eyes, and nodded. "That's really… big of you, man. I don't think I deserve it."

Puck's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, I see that you don't think that. You're wrong, though. You do. You deserve it."

It was as though Puck hadn't even spoken to him; Finn nodded, but it didn't reach beyond his eyes. This wasn't something they could solve tonight, Kurt knew, and Finn had already turned down help from him. _But maybe there's something I can do._

"Noah," Kurt said, gently, "Sarah's staying here tonight. The guest room – that's going to be her room now. For good."

He nodded. "That's what Burt said. I asked him, when I… before I went away, I made sure he would take care of her, and he agreed." He broke into an amused grin. "She's gonna be your sister, huh?"

Kurt smiled back. "She already is, sweetheart. You know she is. But now she'll have a home. And you – Carl said he gave you a place to stay."

"Yeah," Puck nodded again. "It's pretty nice, but it's just for now. It'll give me space to be myself – just myself, without you or Finn or Adam or anybody. I think I need that right now. That's part of me, figuring things out."

Kurt took a deep breath. "That's good. I'm glad you have a place, and I... I understand why you might not want to live with me, or Finn." He swallowed the lump in his throat. _It's about what Noah needs, right now,_ he told himself firmly.

"It's not that I don't want to," Puck said. "I just – I'm not ready. I know that much, at least. My Ma, I guess I've got to… I've got to _mourn_ her. I still don't really know what that means, but I'm figuring that out too. And I need a little space from everybody else to do that."

Kurt laid a hand on his shoulder. "That's fine, sweetheart, really. But I hope that, sometimes, you might still want to stay with me. I – I missed you so much." His voice cracked a little, and Puck set his guitar to the side and reached for him, offering his embrace. Kurt threw his arms around him and let himself cry, just a little. It wasn't time to fall apart, not yet, but he knew Noah didn't mind this.

Kurt pulled back and touched his cheek. "Would you stay here, tonight?"

"Of course, baby," Puck said, smiling. "I'm not going anywhere."

Kurt let himself float for a moment in the relief he felt at hearing Noah say those words. "All right. Thank you." Then he turned to Finn, who was watching them silently. "And you – I want you to stay, too."

Finn started, then glanced uneasily at Puck. "Uh," he said. "I don't think –" But Puck was nodding and looking at Kurt.

"It's fine," he said. "Whatever you want."

"I know things aren't all better," Kurt said. "I know they won't be for a while. And I know you're not sure who you are, or how you can even be together, the two of you. But I really need you both." He closed his eyes. _"Please."_

"All right," Finn said, faintly. "I can – I can do that."

Sarah found them on her way down to the guest room. She moved in to give Puck a quick hug, then Kurt, then Finn. "You're all staying," she said. "Right?"

"We're all here tonight," Kurt assured her. "Like that night at Finn's, after the dinner party. And in the morning –"

"We'll make breakfast," Puck interrupted. "You and me, squirt. It'll be awesome."

Sarah's smile looked far less like her usual smile and far more like a typical twelve-year-old's. "Awesome," she echoed. "And I'll make sure I sleep with earbuds in tonight, so you don't have to worry about making too much noise, okay?"

"Th-thanks," Kurt choked, feeling himself turn red, but Sarah was grinning at him with Puck's exact expression. She waved and shut the guest room door behind her.

He climbed the stairs and found his dad and Carole sitting together on the couch in the living room, watching the remake of _The Time Machine_ on the little television. "How is it?" he said, indicating the screen.

"They added some weird stuff," said Burt. "There's this hologram guy, and they're in New York instead of London. But it's all right." He raised an eyebrow at Kurt. "How are things with you guys?"

"Noah's going to stay tonight," Kurt said. "And Finn."

Carole looked surprised, but she nodded. "He's glad to see Puck, too."

He nodded back. "You're staying, Carole?"

"I – I thought I might," she said, only a little flustered. Kurt didn't have to work too hard not to feel weird about it. He bent down and kissed her on the cheek.

"I'm glad," he said. "I've got my whole family, all in one place. It's just what I wanted."

She caught his hand as he straightened up. "Kurt, don't be surprised if… well, if Finn isn't ready for anything. He's still so confused, and…"

"I know," he assured her. "Finn has the right to be confused, but we're not going to stop loving him just because of that."

"All right." Kurt watched Burt put an arm around Carole, and she leaned in a little against his shoulder. "Thank you. For being strong, while Finn isn't."

"I don't feel very strong," Kurt admitted. "Mostly I've been falling apart every few minutes and picking myself up again."

She shook her head. "No, honey. You are. You're exactly what Finn and Puck need right now."

Kurt wasn't exactly sure what he felt about that, but he appreciated her certainty in him. "Noah and Sarah said they're making breakfast tomorrow," he said, changing the subject.

Burt grinned. "That's perfect. I've heard miraculous things about this crème brulee French toast. You think they'd make that?"

"I'll be sure to ask." He kissed his dad on the cheek. "Good night."

"Good night," they chorused, turning back to their movie. He knew it wouldn't hold their attention for long, but that was all right, too. _I guess if I'm allowed to have sex at my own house,_ he thought, _it makes sense that my dad might be allowed to do the same thing. _

Kurt went back downstairs to find Puck stepping into the shower, and he had to pause for a moment in the doorway to catch his breath. "God, Noah," he murmured, filling his eyes with the sight of him, naked in his bathroom. "I have missed you so much."

Puck posed for him, grinning. It didn't make him any hotter, but Kurt appreciated the effort. Then he shook his head. "I don't know, Kurt... Finn, not thinking he deserves a second chance. That completely sucks. Can't you tell him?"

Kurt gave him a sad smile. "I did tell him. He's just not listening."

"Yeah, well, I don't think he's listening to me, either." He ducked under the spray, wetting his face, his eyes tightly shut. "I'll be out in a minute."

Finn was sitting at Kurt's desk, gazing uncertainly at the bed. Kurt wondered what thoughts might be going through his mind. Finn was usually pretty easy to read, but right now, he was so confused, he barely knew himself.

"Thank you," Kurt said, kissing him. "Thank you for this, for staying tonight. I know it's not easy for you, and, just – thank you."

Finn nodded, putting his arms around him. He didn't look exactly happy, but he didn't look like he was going to bolt, either. "I missed him, too, you know? But I don't know what I can really handle. Together."

"I know," Kurt said, shaking his head. "Don't worry about that. I just want you here with me." He reached down and put his hand in Finn's pocket, extracting his phone, and put it in his hands. "And I think you need to call Carl now."

Finn stared at the phone like he'd never seen one before. "I – what?"

"You're missing him. I know he's not coming home for a few more days, but that doesn't mean you can't talk to him." Kurt frowned at him. "Don't tell me you don't recognize the signs. You know what you need."

"I – I know," Finn whispered. "But he's not – we're not – we're taking it slow." He said this as though it were just about the worst thing in the world. Kurt tried not to smile. He put a hand on Finn's hip.

"Well, I know you said you didn't want me to, but – I can, if you need it."

"Kurt." Finn took Kurt's hands in his. "I don't. I mean, that's not who we are, you and me. I'd rather not. No matter… no matter how much I might need it."

Kurt pressed his lips together, then, as offhandedly as he could, said, "Noah could do it."

He wasn't sure if Finn's expression was closer to appalled or terrified. Either way, it wasn't positive. "God. That would be – I can't even imagine it."

Kurt sat on his knee, one arm around his neck. "You don't think it could help? Give you a chance to… you know, say you're sorry? Get your punishment from the person you wronged?"

He watched as Finn fought past his initial reaction and actually considered this. "I don't think so," he said at last. "I mean, I can see what you mean, but – I'm pretty sure Puck doesn't want to be like that with me, and I'm –" Finn hesitated, watching Kurt's face carefully. "Kurt, I'm – I'm _Carl's_ boy."

_Oh._ Kurt felt the rush of understanding fill his body with tingling awareness, of Finn, of who he was to him, and a whole new level of appreciation for the way that Finn was feeling about Carl. It was like the way Noah was with him... like the way he was with Finn. And he wouldn't want to do that with anyone else. Just the idea was somewhat disturbing.

"I see what you mean," he whispered. Finn waited anxiously. After a moment he stirred, and kissed Finn again. "It's okay. I didn't really - I guess I didn't quite get it before. But I do now."

"It doesn't bother you?" Finn asked.

Kurt tried to answer honestly. "Not - for the reason you might think," he said. "It doesn't bother me that you want that with Carl. It's that you might stop... wanting to do it for me."

Finn blinked, then nodded slowly. "Because of how things are with Noah."

"Yes," he sighed.

He watched Finn looking inside himself, and not for the first time, Kurt felt impressed with the way Finn took on any challenge: not fearlessly, but not reckessly, with great consideration, and respect for other beings. It was just who Finn was, and Kurt loved it about him.

Then Finn rose from his chair. He put out a hand and stroked Kurt's cheek, gently. "There are a lot of things I'm not sure about these days," he said. Kurt sighed and leaned into the touch, feeling the light stroking on his cheek.

Finn's hand curled around Kurt's throat, just under his chin, and suddenly Kurt was feeling the pressure of Finn's emotions, compressed under his skin, with no one to handle them for him. He felt frantic on Finn's behalf. "Oh," he said, "oh, Finn."

"This," said Finn, steady and sure, even in the face of that anxious, desperate energy. "This, between us. I'm sure about that. Understand?"

"Yes sir," Kurt squeaked, rising up under the compression on his neck. Finn pulled his face in for a heart-thumping kiss, and Kurt returned it, their tongues dancing.

"God," said a strangled voice, and Kurt turned to see Noah, standing in the bathroom door, covered only by a towel, watching them with intense heat and appreciation.

Finn considered Puck for a long moment before he took two steps back from Kurt. He made a gesture of acquiescence. "Go ahead," Finn said, his voice hoarse. "You guys... it's really about you, anyway."

Puck shook his head slowly. "Finn... no. It's not. It's always been about _us._ You and me, man." He reached out a hand.

"No," Finn said. "No, I - I can't." He watched Puck's hand with suspicion, like it was going to damage him.

"Yes, you can," Kurt whispered. "You love him."

Finn flinched. "Yeah," he said. "But it's not as simple as that."

Kurt moved back into his space, closing those two steps that Finn had inserted between them, and grasped his head. Finn took a surprised breath, but it was Puck who groaned as Kurt laid another deep kiss on Finn's mouth, grinding against his hip.

"Maybe tonight, it can be," Kurt said, breathy and insistent. "Maybe just for tonight, it really can be that simple. I want you." He reached toward Puck, who took a step forward. "And he does, too."

Finn flickered a glance up at Puck, then away, just as quickly, his mouth open, his shoulders hunching. "Do you," he said in a flat voice, and it was barely a question.

"Yeah," Puck said, with such certain lust that Finn was startled into a nervous laugh.

"Even knowing someone else is Topping me?" he said, frustration and intense heat coloring every word. Puck didn't even hesitate.

"I don't care about that," he said. "You're so fucking _worried_ about that. As long as he's a good guy, and you're getting what you need, I don't fucking _care._ I just don't like seeing you so goddamned _scared."_ He was close enough now that he could put his hand out and touch Finn - and he did, laying a hand on the side of his neck. Finn trembled under the touch, bending forward.

"You need your Top," he said softly. Finn's body began to shake.

"He's gone for four more days," said Kurt, and Noah looked up in surprise. "And they're not - anyway. Not yet."

Puck gazed at Finn in clear distress. "God," he said, gently. "I'm so sorry."

He pulled Finn toward him, wound his strong arms around his back, as Finn began to cry in earnest. He made noises of comfort in his ear. "I got it, man," he murmured, kissing his neck. "I know just how that feels."

"He's never even really had any of it, with him, yet," Kurt added, prompting a sound of sympathetic pain from Puck, and Finn curled into Puck's chest, shaking with sobs.

"You need it," Puck insisted, and Finn nodded against him, his face hidden and masked by tears.

Kurt had a sudden sense of deja vu - only it was _himself_ he saw, kneeling on the bed, being comforted by Noah. And he knew, in a flash, what he could do to help Finn.

"Noah," he said urgently. "Tonight - just for tonight."

"What?" Puck looked up at Kurt, confused.

He got down on his knees, so his face was even with Finn's, bent over and huddled against Puck. "Tonight," he said again. "Tonight, he's your baby."

Finn still looked confused, but it only took Puck a moment to get it. "Oh, Kurt," Puck breathed. "I don't know -"

"I do," Kurt said clearly. "This is what he needs. He doesn't need it from me - not even really from you. But you can do it for him." He reached in and unfolded Finn from Puck's embrace. "Come on, onto the bed. Noah's going to take care of you."

Puck stood beside the bed, watching, as Kurt took Finn's shirt and jeans off. When he went to pull his shorts down, Finn pushed his hand away, rolling toward the wall. Kurt quickly rid himself of his clothes and lay down in front of Finn, stroking his face and chest as best as he could.

"Finn," he said. "Come on, look at me."

"No." Finn's voice was muffled and petulant. Kurt wanted to laugh. _That's_ how he sounded? It made him blush. But he just tucked his hands into Finn's ball of self-preservation and tried to be as loving and patient as he could.

"You don't have to be strong right now, Finn. We're your _family._ We're here to handle it. That's what family does. Nobody expects you to be anything other than who you are, and right now - this is what you need."

Kurt looked up at Puck in quiet appeal. Puck dropped his towel on the floor and crawled onto the bed behind Finn, cupping his body in his. "All right," he said quietly. "Okay. It's okay, baby. I'm here."

"Puck," Finn gasped, finding his voice, "you've never - I'm not - "

"I got it, Finn," said Puck, kissing him on the shoulder, on his neck and the back of his head, every place he could reach. "Just let me, okay? Because I fucking love you, and I'm not letting you deal with this alone. Because _I know."_

Finn didn't say anything more. He just gave in, compressing his body, quivering, each sob prompting a fresh comforting word or kiss or caress from Puck behind him or Kurt in front of him.

"I don't deserve this," Finn protested through his tears. "I was so... so _awful."_

"Yeah, you were," agreed Puck, right into his ear. "But that doesn't make me love you less. Remember?"

"Family sticks together," said Kurt. "No matter what."

This time, when Noah went to pull Finn's shorts down, he let him. "Hold him," Puck said, and Kurt helped Finn lie on top of him, his arms around his rib cage and cradling him against his body. Finn's body was tense, jumpy, and even when Kurt kissed him as thoroughly as he knew how, he wouldn't relax.

Kurt watched as Puck ran loving hands over Finn's head, his back, his behind, and pressed lips to the back of his neck. Finn made a small moan.

"You miss him," Puck said.

"I don't know," Finn replied, his breath coming faster. "I don't _know."_

"Yeah, you do," he insisted, his hands coming down into the crease between Finn's thighs. "Everybody deserves to have their Top. If you can't, well, I can at least give you this."

Finn's voice dropped almost an entire octave, and he groaned and shifted his hips against Kurt's leg at the feel of Puck's fingers. Kurt knew they would be dry and a little harsh: in other words, exactly the way Finn wanted them.

"Tell me if it hurts," he whispered into Finn's ear, "okay?"

"Not - not hurting," Finn said through his teeth. Kurt could feel against his hip exactly how _not hurting_ it was for Finn, and he smiled, kissing his cheek.

"You deserve to be happy," Kurt said. "Let us do our best. All right?"

Finn, nervous and shaking, nodded against Kurt, holding him tighter. Kurt met Puck's eyes over Finn's back and nodded at him in turn. "Go on, sweetheart."

Puck rose up on his knees and moved down on the bed, his hands stroking Finn's ass. "God damn, Hudson," he muttered, "way to fulfil a fantasy. You are _far_ too fucking hot."

Finn laughed shakily, and then he cried out against the pressure of Puck's tongue. Kurt's sense memories told him exactly how good _that_ felt, and he didn't resist responding along with Finn. "Puck," Finn moaned, "oh, _fuck."_

"He's got you," Kurt encouraged. "He's here. He's home."

Finn tossed his head back and forth on Kurt's chest in denial, even as he thrust his hips back against the blissful intrusion. "He said this _wasn't_. He said it wasn't his home."

Puck paused and rested his own cheek on the small of Finn's back. "It wasn't. But things are different now. I knew I was going to be a papa, and I realized I didn't have to do it alone. Couldn't do it - without you. Without all of you: Burt, and Carole and everybody. I need you."

"You've got us, sweetheart," Kurt said, reaching around to touch Puck's head, on top of Finn.

"I know," Puck said simply. "It's good, now. _Home -_ it's not a place. It's a feeling, something I can carry inside me. I get it with Adam. And with you, Kurt." He stretched his body out, kneeling over Finn's prone form. "And you, dumbass."

"_Noah,"_ Kurt warned, and Puck snickered. He kissed the space between Finn's shoulder blades.

"Sorry. You, _Finn._ You're home, too. And I need you a hell of a lot. You're not the only one who was a wreck, this last week, and it was mostly me trying to fight my way out of needing you. Well, I'm not fighting it anymore." He ran his fingers through Finn's hair. "You want this with me?"

"God," Finn said, his voice cracking. "All my life, remember?"

"Yeah." Puck smiled, the love shining in his eyes so poignant that Kurt felt the tears well up, himself. "I remember. All right, baby. You're going to be all right."

Kurt could feel in the way the tension changed in Finn's body, the moment when Puck began pressing into him, could hear Finn's cries go from anxious and needy to overwhelmed. "It's good," Kurt said in his ear, as much a question as it was a reassurance.

"So good," Finn sighed, coming up onto his knees and thrusting back, prompting twin groans from the two of them. "Puck... Kurt... I can't even..."

"You don't have to," Kurt said, into the rhythm of their bodies. "I know, too. I know exactly how you're feeling."

Kurt vividly remembered doing this very thing, only it was Noah in his lap and Finn behind him, telling Noah all the things he needed to hear to heal, to be whole: _you're so good, you're my good boy._ It wasn't Noah's place, to tell Finn those things, or Kurt's. They'd have to leave that to his Top. But this - they could do this for him.

_All my life,_ Kurt thought, in a haze of possibility. _I could have this. All my life._ He kissed Finn's lips, then turned his head to rest against Noah's strong arm.

"I love you so much," he whispered, and Finn cried out, bucking in sudden, wild thrusts into the sweat-slick hollow of Kurt's hip.

"That's it," said Puck, speeding up his own thrusts, his voice harsh and urgent. "Finn - baby, you feel so good - come on, come for me..."

Finn's shouts were wordless, but Kurt heard in them everything he was feeling, and it was the sweetest, most satisfying sound. He wrapped his arms all the way around Finn to touch Noah's back. "We're here."

Finn's movements slowed, a little at a time, unwinding, quaking with aftershocks. Puck tugged him off of Kurt to lie on his side, spooning him, still inside him, and Kurt tucked himself into Finn's arms on the other side. Finn held him, crying again, but Kurt could tell it was different now.

"Thank you, guys," he murmured, his cheek wet against Kurt's as he kissed him. "Thank you, baby, for knowing what I needed. And - Puck... god, that was... "

"Fucking incredible," Puck said, with a deep breath of contentment. "Are we awesome or what?"

* * *

><p>Kurt made them all milk with cinnamon and brought it downstairs to the green couch while Finn and Puck got cleaned up. He took both boys' cell phones and laid them pointedly on the coffee table, but didn't say anything about it.<p>

"I hate to say it," said Finn, sitting between them, "because this was so amazing and all, but I don't think we can assume it's going to fix everything."

"I'm not," said Kurt. "I'm not assuming that. It was just - something. What we could do, the three of us, together."

"Yeah." Puck propped his feet up on the table. "It was_ something,_ all right."

Finn put a hand on Puck's bare thigh. "It's not how we used to be, though."

Puck nodded. "You know... Adam took me to synagogue on Saturday, for Hanukkah. Their choir, they were singing this song. We got to sing with them. It was, like, a poem, about your children, how they're not really your children, but they're – they belong to Life. To everybody, I guess. And you can't make them like you, but you can try to be like them." He turned clear eyes on Finn. "Maybe that's how things were with us. I mean, you're not my parent, but… you were in charge, kind of like that. And it's different, now, isn't it? I'm – I'm not your boy anymore, am I?"

Finn's mouth trembled, and they watched as tears welled up in his eyes, but did not fall. "I don't know," he whispered.

"Okay," said Puck, and put his hand on top of Finn's. "It's okay, not to know. I'm not freaking out. We're okay. Because – I think I'm growing. I'm figuring out who I am, now, just like you are. I still need what you gave me, but I still have Kurt, and Adam, and they're taking care of me. And I think _I'm _learning how to give somebody that, too."

"You did," said Kurt, stroking his face. "You gave it to me, once. It was just what I needed."

"Yeah," Puck nodded. "Exactly. I can do that. Even if it's not what you need from me, all the time. Or you." He nudged Finn. "I think it's something I could be, with - with _somebody."_

Kurt guessed he knew who Puck was thinking about. _The curly-haired boy at the club. _He squeezed Puck's arm. "I guess we're different, each of us, with each person we love. Who you are with us, and who you are with Adam... and Daphne and Nicole and Alex, right?"

"Mmm." Puck nodded contemplatively. He stretched his own legs out and rested his head on Finn's chest. Finn looked a little startled, but his arm came down around Puck's back, and it was, in that moment, as though they'd never been apart. "Alex told me not to call him _sir_ anymore. He said I'd given that to someone else."

"Adam," Finn murmured, but Puck shook his head.

"No, man. I call him _Adam."_ He shivered. "It's enough, trust me. But - no, Alex said... even if you're figuring things out - in a place of healing, he said - that maybe someday you might want that from me again." Then he laughed. "Dude. We totally called it. You, needing your Top."

Finn was startled. "Really?"

"Yeah. Alex described Carl to a T: someone who can handle it if you fall apart, who isn't afraid to be firm. Someone you trust." He glanced up at Finn, resting his chin on Finn's chest. "Someone like you were with me."

"Were," Finn said.

Puck shrugged. "Maybe someday again. It's okay. We were different before the sex, too, right? I didn't love you any less then, though. We'll be different now, but -"

"All right," he said softly, and turned his head and kissed Puck, cutting him off. Puck grinned, surprised, but clearly delighted, and kissed him back. Kurt smiled at them, feeling like his face might break with the force of it.

"I can't even tell you how happy this is making me," he said, and Finn laughed. "Now - would you do one more thing for me?"

"I think _somebody_ didn't get off yet tonight," Puck said, gazing at Kurt across Finn's chest with a wicked leer. Kurt huffed.

"Not that. I mean, _okay,_ yes, I didn't, and we can figure that out. But that's not what I meant." He picked up each of their phones and put them into their hands. "This is me, doing what I can to help. _Call them._ It's late and they're going to be worried about you."

Finn turned red, turning the phone over in his hands, but Puck leaned over and planted a kiss on Kurt's face before opening his phone and dialing Adam's number. Kurt picked up his mug of milk and sipped it, trying not to feel anxious.

"Isn't this kind of weird?" Finn murmured to Kurt. Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Get over it, Finn," he snapped. "Come on. Don't make me call him myself."

"Dude," he protested, clutching the phone to his chest, but then Puck caught his breath, squeezing tight to Finn's fingers, and they fell silent.

"Hey, Adam," murmured Puck. He smiled with such obvious pleasure and relief, Kurt had to smile, too. _Noah, naked and happy, on my couch, holding Finn's hand. Weird or not, it doesn't get much better than that_.

He reached out and brushed Kurt's face with his fingers, chuckling into the phone. "You'll never guess where I am right now."

* * *

><p>Kurt stirred against Finn's chest and heard music. "Turn off the alarm, would you?" Finn mumbled, pulling him closer.<p>

"Not the alarm, Hudson," rumbled Puck's voice, low and gravely. Kurt sat up, rubbing his eyes and squinting into the light filtering through the curtains. Puck was sitting with his guitar on his lap, perched on the edge of the bed, smiling at the two of them, strumming quietly.

"Kind of early for a serenade, isn't it, sweetheart?" Kurt said, but he smiled back.

"Yeah, I know." He chuckled as Finn rolled over and propped himself up on his elbows, hair askew. "But there's no better time for this song."

_Good morning, I love you  
><em>_Now that you're here where you belong  
><em>_I want to be the man you need  
><em>_Just tell me you love me  
><em>_Because I need to hear it, too  
><em>_Just let me be the one you carry deep inside of you._

* * *

><p>Neil Diamond comes through for Puck yet again.<p>

As If: http:/ www. youtube .com/watch?v=d8vNA-2poTg  
>Can Anybody Hear Me: http: www. youtube .com/watch?v=f87Qj_xcl6k  
>If I Lost My Way: http: www. youtube .com/watch?v=HdCw_oUtlPU  
>Deep Inside of You: http: www. youtube .com/watch?v=wA0Hp5Hs3T8


	38. Chapter 38

_(Author's note: I've been doing a lot of sitting and staring at the empty page of this story. But something finally came out, even if it wasn't what I expected. _

_I suppose I should mention here, even if you have not read the story of Puck and Adam, that there is currently an Adam/Kurt romance emerging in the chapters of Just Keep Coming Around, which is a kind of collection of short stories about Adam in the Donutverse. It is incredibly hot and sweet. Those stories will fit into the timeline of the sequel to Bending in the Archer's Hand, which will span the rest of season one. There's so much more story to come. I will try to confine most of my Adam to that collection of short stories, in deference to my readers who prefer not to dabble in RPS, even a clearly fictional variety such as this. He does make a brief appearance at the end of this chapter._

_Also, if you are not yet sold on Dave/Puck, I highly recommend you come check out the work in progress, So Nothing's Left Unturned, written by myself and the inestimable Penthea. It's a little more serious in tone than Gold Mine, and the boys are in college now, but there's plenty of humor. And math. And cats. And Sarah, and little seven-year-old Beth!_

_Thank you to everyone who reads the stories. I can't even tell you how much I appreciate your presence in my life, even if you never comment. -amy)_

* * *

><p>The tree was entirely decorated by the time Kurt and Puck brought Sarah home from Frances' house on Christmas Eve. Puck was mostly familiar with the sterile, single-colored trees he'd seen in department stores, so he was a little confused by the mishmash of the Hummel tree, hung with multicolored lights and decorations of all kinds. Some were bulbs and glass baubles, but there were just as many made from construction paper and painted Play-Doh. Puck frowned at the tree.<p>

"It's a little... cluttered, isn't it?" he said, glancing at Kurt. Kurt slipped an arm around his waist.

"I suppose. But that's not the point. Every ornament on that tree is a piece of our past. I made some of them, when I was growing up. My dad can tell you where every single one of those ornaments came from, even the stupid reindeer made out of cut paper and pipe cleaners."

"Preschool, when Kurt was four," called Burt from the couch.

"See?" Kurt continued, not even turning around. "And half of those glass ornaments belonged to my mother's parents. It's a lot more than a bunch of decorations. It's a family history, a chance to talk about all the places we've been."

Finn came out of Sarah's room and slid his stack of wrapped presents under the tree. "You remember the tree at my house, Puck? It was a lot like this."

"I guess I never paid much attention to it before," Puck shrugged. Carole stood and came over to stand beside them, gazing at the tree.

"I didn't even bother to unpack our decorations this year," she admitted. "It hasn't been a very festive time at our house, has it, Finn?"

Finn didn't respond right away, fiddling with an ornament on the lowest branch. Eventually he sighed and sat back, arms propped on his knees. "It's okay, Mom. I didn't really care much how festive things were, this year... until Tuesday, anyway."

Puck gave him one short glance, then looked quickly back at the tree. It would have been so fucking easy to go over and sit beside him, to put his head in Finn's lap, to let him stroke his head. To pretend that nothing had changed between them.

_It wouldn't be true, though._ He took Kurt's hand and held it firmly, interlacing their fingers. Kurt looked up at him, startled, but he held just as tightly. _It's better. I'm glad to be here. _But even since Tuesday night, things were still strained between himself and Finn. He felt it, passing him in the hallway, in the way he hesitated before speaking to him, the tension in his body. It was the kind of tension he knew well. _I know what you need, man._

"No matter," Kurt said briskly. "We can add to our decorations next year. I mean..." He paused and glanced at Finn. "You can get our your own, and I can... or we - " He blinked, a little too fast.

"Baby..." Puck tugged his hand gently. "What is it?"

Kurt shook his head. "It's nothing. Let me introduce you to my favorite Christmas movie."

They sat on the couch, all six of them, and watched _Emmett Otter's Jug Band Christmas,_ which turned out to be an obscure musical by the same guy who did the Muppets. "I remember being scared to death by the big bear character, Chuck," Kurt said, passing Puck the popcorn. "Something about his voice made my toes curl."

"He's the same guy who does the Cookie Monster, right?" commented Finn.

"I guess." Kurt thought about it, listening. "Maybe. Somehow he's much creepier here."

"One person can play many different roles," Carole pointed out. "Frank Oz also does the voices for Miss Piggie, Grover and Fozzie Bear, to name a few. He's incredibly versatile."

"And Bert," said Burt, nudging Kurt, who turned red and grinned.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sarah said. She crunched into a frozen ice cream cookie sandwich. "They all sound like the same person to me."

Bert shrugged and took the popcorn bowl from Puck. "I think it's all in how you listen."

There was a song at the end to which Kurt knew all the words:

_Like a flower that has blossomed  
><em>_In this dry and barren sand  
><em>_We are born and born again most gracefully  
><em>_Plus the winds of time will take us  
><em>_With a sure and steady hand  
><em>_When the river meets the sea_

Puck, sitting next to Burt, noticed him averting his eyes and patting his face with his shirt sleeve. He reached out and got a tissue and handed it to him. Burt took it without comment.

_Like a baby when it is sleeping  
><em>_In its mother's loving arms  
><em>_What a newborn baby dreams is a mystery  
><em>_But this life will find a purpose  
><em>_And in time we'll understand  
><em>_When the river meets the sea_

"Elizabeth liked that song?" Carole inquired, her voice calm, one hand on Burt's knee.

"Mmm," he said vaguely.

It wasn't particularly late when the movie concluded, but Kurt turned to Finn with a pleading expression. "Are you staying tonight?"

"I think Finn needs to come back to our house tonight," Carole said. She gave Burt's knee a firm pat. "It's been a long week, and tomorrow's Christmas. Let's all get some good sleep tonight, okay?"

Finn didn't look like he was in any position to object, but Puck thought he might not have, even if Carole had been less adamant. "I'm going to head back to the apartment," he told Kurt, who was crestfallen, but not arguing. "I bet I'll be back before you're even awake. It's my first Christmas. And I think Sarah will learn how to drive a car just to come and pick me up from my place if I don't get up early and come out here - hey!" He ducked away from her kicking foot. "Brother abuse."

"You brought it on yourself, dude," Finn said, standing and stretching. He hugged Sarah, then went to get their coats from the closet.

"Kurt, I forgot to mention," said Burt, grabbing a box from beside the tree and handing it to Puck. He hefted it experimentally, shaking it a few times before Kurt put a hand on top of his. "This came in the mail today, express mail, from California. It's addressed to both of you."

"Oh, f- I mean, wow," Puck said, staring at the box. Then he looked up at Burt. "It's from Adam. That was quick."

"I guess he wanted you to have it by Christmas." Burt's eyebrows were up under his ball cap, but he just gestured. "Set it under the tree, I suppose. You can find out what it is tomorrow."

"Good night, Carole." Sarah hugged her, then turned to Puck. "You sure you won't stay?" she said hopefully. "It's really boring in the middle of the night with nobody to talk to."

Puck glanced at Burt, who was still lost in his own thoughts, but he was still quick enough to pick up on Puck's unspoken question. Burt walked up behind Sarah and touched her shoulder. "You can come get me if you happen to wake up."

Her eyes widened a little, but she nodded at Burt. "Thanks, Tatenui," she murmured, burying herself in his arms. Puck felt a little sad at this, even though he knew it was better for Sarah to have _more_ people, and this was his family as much as hers. _She's supposed to do that with me,_ he thought, inexplicably, and shook his head.

Kurt was waiting, and as much as he was happy to see that, Puck hesitated before hugging him. "I don't like to leave when you're sad," he whispered into his ear. "Do you want me stay?"

"You'd better not, sweetheart," Kurt whispered back.

He placed a kiss on that space right above his collar that made Kurt close his eyes and sigh, every time. It worked this time, too. "I can sneak back in a few hours," he suggested.

He groaned. "I think my dad's going to be watching." He pushed him away, gently and firmly. "Come back in the morning. If you're really here early, maybe you can come wake me up."

"Yeah." He grinned at Kurt, tracing his ear with one finger. "I'll have you for breakfast. Sleep well, baby."

Finn was getting into the passenger seat of Carole's car when he walked out to his truck. "Hey," Puck called, and Finn paused, startled, one leg in, the other on the snowy driveway. Puck placed a hand on the car door. "You're leaving without saying goodbye to Kurt?"

"You guys looked like you were busy," Finn muttered. "I didn't want to interfere."

Puck rolled his eyes. "Jesus fuck, Finn." He reached into the car and towed him out. "We'll be right back, okay, Carole?"

"I think I've got five minutes in me before I'll come in and find you," she said. "Got it?"

"Got it," he affirmed. "Five minutes."

Puck linked arms with Finn like he was about to tell him a secret, and scowled. "So don't tell me you've been treating him like _this_ all week."

"You don't get to say that to me, dude," Finn hissed back. "Not when you're the one who _left._"

"If we're placing blame, then no. But that's not my goal here. I'm worried about _Kurt._ Remember? The guy who didn't do _anything _wrong?" Puck pushed Finn ahead of himself and propelled him through the door. "You giving him what he needs?"

"Yes!" Finn shot him a wounded look over his shoulder. "Carl - he showed me things... didn't Kurt tell you?"

"A little. But I know he's way too nice to say when he's not getting what he needs."

Finn hesitated outside Kurt's bedroom door, then knocked. "Baby?" he said softly. "It's me."

Kurt opened the door, surprised, glancing back and forth between the two of them. He'd already taken off his shirt and socks and was down to just his butterscotch-colored pants. "Oh," he said. "I don't - Finn, my dad's going to -"

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," Finn interrupted. "I won't be long." He put a hand under Kurt's chin and tipped it up to his, gazing into his wide, blue eyes.

"Oh," he said again, in a completely different tone. He didn't speak for a few moments, then stammered out, "Y-yes, I'm okay. But thank you... for checking."

Finn caressed his face. "I love you."

"I - I love you, too." Kurt turned to Puck, his face flushed. "Did you have something to do with this?"

"Don't know what you're talking about." Puck considered his callused fingers.

"Mmmm. You guys had better clear out. I'll see you in the _morning."_ He gave Puck one pointed look and waited for his nod before closing the bedroom door.

Finn glanced up the stairs, then over at Puck. "You were right," he said. "I should have checked in, before I left, even if I thought I knew."

He shrugged, but felt a rush of pleasure at the compliment. "I'm learning things."

"You've got the same instincts I've got," Finn said. "And you've got Alex, and Adam, to teach you."

"You've got Carl," Puck countered. "And he's here, in town. I'm sure he's going to show you a hell of a lot of things."

Puck watched Finn's face devolve into needy confusion, right in front of him. He grabbed his shoulders. "Ohhh, no," he said, giving him a little shake. "You're not going there, not here. Your mom's waiting in the driveway."

"I - fuck." Finn shook his head. "Sorry."

Puck hugged him, suddenly, fiercely, trying not to lose himself too much in the feeling of Finn's body under his hands, but then Finn had his face, and was kissing him, wet and sloppy, and he was making unsubtle noises into his mouth. He pulled back, seeking Puck's eyes. His own were troubled.

"This - this is okay?" he said.

"Yeah, man," Puck mumbled, feeling a little dazed, because Finn always did that to him. "Okay. Of course."

He hesitated. "You - maybe I could come to your place?"

Puck blinked. "Uh... you want that?"

Finn still had that troubled look, but he nodded. "I'll go ask my mom."

It had been long enough since any of the three of them had had to ask this kind of permission on a not-school night that Puck was startled by the idea. _You've got a parent to ask,_ he thought, and felt a strange twinge. "Yeah, of course," he said again. "I'll get the truck warmed up."

He waited in the cab until Finn and Carole were done talking. It wasn't a short conversation. By the time Finn climbed in, he'd already made it through track two (For Your Entertainment) and was well into track three (Whatdya Want From Me) of Adam's CD. Finn blinked at the CD sitting on the seat, picked it up and turned it over in his hands as he put his seatbelt on. "He sounds... well, really good."

"Yeah," Puck agreed. He'd listened to the album enough now that the songs were just part of him, every bit of vocal nuance, the harmonies, all the instrumental parts, layered on one another. "This is the first one he sang. In the coffee shop. I mean, not like this - it was just him, singing with my guitar."

They drove in silence for a few minutes, listening, before Puck reached over and took Finn's hand. "This isn't weird?" he said.

"Uh, _yeah,_ it is," Finn assured him. "It's pretty weird. But that hasn't stopped us yet. And I'm pretty sure we thoroughly covered weird last night."

Puck gave a laugh, and tried to relax. "All right. I mean, if you can handle it, I can, too."

"I'm not freaking out, if that's what you're asking." Finn squeezed his hand. It didn't feel bad, at all.

He let go when the track changed, and skipped to track 5. "Listen to this one. It's about... uh, well, Adam says it's about casual sex, about feeling lonely and taking a guy home, just because you don't want to be alone."

_And you've had enough  
><em>_Searching for love  
><em>_And you miss the touch  
><em>_Of someone new_

_Soaked to the bone  
><em>_Sink like a stone  
><em>_I will take you home  
><em>_It's not the first time  
><em>_It's not the worst crime  
><em>_Our souls will be okay_

Puck shot him a look. "Is that what this is? Am I your random hookup? Because, you know, I'm kind of okay with that, if that's what you need."

"Dude," Finn protested, red-faced. "I've never done anything like that. And how could I be doing that with _you?_ I've known you practically all my life."

"Yeah? Tell me you're the same person you were a week ago."

Finn was silent. "You can't, can you?" Puck pressed. "Finn, I was fucking _inside_ you last night. This is different, between us. Don't you think so?"

Finn nodded, still silent. Finally, as they pulled into the parking lot outside Carl and Davis' offices, he blurted, "Tell me about Fight Club."

Puck felt a rush of adrenaline. "How did you - ?"

"Karofsky. He was there."

Puck leaned forward onto the steering wheel, pillowing his head on his arms. "Fuck."

"Yeah," Finn agreed. He sounded kind of pissed. "And he told me exactly what you did with that guy in the men's john. Is _that_ what we're doing here?"

"No!" Puck shouted. "No, fuck, Finn - no. I love you." He watched Finn's hurt face, reached to touch it, and saw him pull away. He let his hand drop to the seat and sighed. "I'm sorry for that, okay? That was - stupid. I was just... I needed..."

"I know what you needed," Finn murmured. His eyes dropped to his own lap. "I know... _exactly_ what you needed."

Puck nodded slowly. "Yeah. You do. I was... in a really fucked up place. And I promise, I won't do anything that stupid again. I'll come to Kurt. Or Adam, or - or you. Okay?"

"You don't have to make me those kind of promises," Finn said, but Puck shook his head vehemently.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. Because Kurt's right. Family sticks together." He reached his fingers for Finn's, and waited for him to take them. Eventually, he did, and Puck sighed in relief. "Yeah. Like that. If we're going to trust each other again, we have to start somewhere. Can you believe me when I say I'm _never_ going to do something like that again?"

"I don't know." Finn watched his face with a faint furrow in his brow. "I heard the rumor and I totally believed it, no question. Because it's exactly the sort of thing you would do. I don't think you can change that about yourself. You're going to..."

"Fuck up," Puck said.

"Be impulsive," Finn replied. "I don't care about that, except that sometimes it could hurt Kurt. Or yourself." He laced his fingers through Puck's. "I love you, too, you know."

Puck did know, but it sent a current of energy through him to hear it from Finn. "You're sure about that?" he said, just to get him to say it again.

"Yeah," said Finn, smiling. "I'm not sure what I'm going to _do_ with you, though. I doubt you got spanked for that, huh?"

Puck had to think about that. "No," he said. "No, I guess I didn't." He looked at Finn, perplexed. "You don't...?"

"Um. No. I don't think I can do that right now." Finn shrugged. "I can't even, with Kurt. I'm just - that place I went, with you, where I was so sure I knew exactly what you needed, and then I was so fucking _wrong?_ I don't think I can go there again."

"So... wait." Puck's confusion escalated. "If you can't do that for Kurt, then how...?"

Finn's face split in the most _interesting_ grin. It made Puck shiver a little to see it. "I'm going to let him show you," he said. "Trust me, it's... awesome."

Puck hated waiting, but he supposed he would have to. "So... you want to come in?"

"Yeah." Finn squeezed his hand once more, then let it go. He followed Puck around to _237 ½ N. Main_ and waited while he unlocked the door with the key for the first time. _My apartment,_ he thought, looking up at the faded paint and dirty carpet of the staircase. It was a little like the way he'd felt when they got their attic room at school. It felt... nice. Like home, maybe. For now.

Finn seemed to know where he was going when he got inside. "You've been here before?" Puck said, raising an eyebrow. Finn blushed. It was almost too easy to make him do that now.

"Not like that," he said irritably. "Davis was here the other day. He told me... well, I told him about what was going on with Carl, and he told me about _him_ and Carl."

"Davis and - _Carl?"_ Puck set his backpack down on the chair in the kitchen. "Whoa. I didn't see that coming."

"Yeah, apparently they were, like, married or something for a while. In a triad, at first, with a girl, Bebe. She and Davis were married, and -"

"Hold on, hold on." Puck shook his head in confusion. "Davis was _married?_ He's totally gay."

"Yeah, well, so am I," said Finn, grinning. "So what? Maybe he didn't know yet. His wife fell for Carl, and -"

"She had _Davis_ and she went for _Carl?_ What the... uh, never mind." Puck saw the look Finn was giving him, like if he interrupted once more he was going to have a fit. "Sorry. I mean, yeah, Carl's hot, but _Davis?_ Holy shit. Tell me I'm wrong."

Finn glared at Puck. "You're wrong," he said.

_Oh._ "Right. Whatever, man, to each his own and all that. So - his wife, what was her name? She went for Carl, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Bebe, he called her. Davis, he was completely clueless, but he wanted her to be happy, I guess, so he went along with it, but then she got pregnant, with Carl. They have a kid - a daughter. She's... um. She's our age." Finn sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Go ahead, I know you're dying to say something."

"A _kid?"_ Puck felt a strange leaping inside him. "He - well, he must have been older than me, I guess, but - doesn't this sound awfully familiar?"

"Yeah," Finn agreed, "except Quinn didn't run away to New York with the baby to leave you and me to fuck like bunnies."

"Gay bunnies?"

Finn laughed. "Sure. Gay bunnies. With tiny handcuffs. Apparently Davis really likes that stuff." He gazed up at Puck. "Apparently we do, too, huh?"

"Hey, man, it's not news to me," Puck said. "I've known I wanted this shit all my life. I just didn't tell anybody. And I made sure to clear my browser history every time." He thought of Tessera. "There's lots for us to learn, though. And - hell, man, Carl knows _everything._ I mean, Tess was his Top, right? So what, are you his apprentice or something now? Is he teaching you to be a Top like him?"

"I... I think he was. But now..." Puck watched Finn close his eyes, saw the look pass over his face. "It's different. I think. I don't know. There's... a lot I don't know."

Puck smiled. "Yeah, you do. You really do. Come on, man. You can't hide from me."

Finn kept his eyes closed, but he smiled, and finally nodded. "I'm _his_ boy," he whispered. "_His._ And I had no idea, Puck, I had _no _idea I even... _wanted_ that."

Puck knelt down on the floor in front of Finn's chair and wrapped his arms around him. "I know, man - it's all new, but I've been there. I'm fucking there right now, with Adam. But Carl - he'll figure this out. That's what I'm saying. He knows what he's doing."

He felt Finn's nod against his shoulder, and pulled back to look into his wet face. "I'm just such a mess right now," he said. "I'm not used to feeling so... so _helpless."_

"Yeah," Puck said tenderly. "But it's kind of awesome, isn't it?"

Finn's eyes were wide. "Yeah," he said, so confused and amazed that Puck had to kiss him.

And because it was Finn, because it was the two of them, together, there was no way their clothes weren't going to come off. "Dude," Puck panted, shaking off the leg of his jeans. "How did we get through middle school without doing this _every day?"_

"I have no idea." Finn pulled his shirt off his head and tossed it on the table. "I think we probably would have had a hard time hiding it, though."

It was kind of amazing to think that nobody was going to walk in, because this was _his_ place. They could have sex on the couch if they wanted, or on the kitchen table... and there was an old fantasy, Finn Hudson on the kitchen table. But it wasn't quite the same, he decided, without the risk of getting caught by your parents.

"Carl put the sheets on the bed himself," he said, just to see Finn twitch, and they chased each other into the bedroom.

Puck pressed the bottle of lube into Finn's hand. "Don't tell me you can't do _this_ anymore._"_

Finn claimed his mouth again before running his free hand down to cup Puck's ass. "I'm not telling you that."

It was different, like this, without the driving force of submission. "Is this how it is with you and Kurt?" Finn wanted to know, fingers stroking into him from behind.

It felt so familiar, so fucking _good_, to be with Finn like this again, Puck couldn't answer for a while. Eventually, he said, "Not exactly. He's my Top, too, you know, in a way."

"Yeah, I know." Finn had to stop and breathe for a moment, pushing into him, and for a little while it was just them, their bodies, moving together, feeling the way they fit so perfectly.

"This is... how it is with us," he said at last, wrapping an arm around Puck's chest. "With you and me. Like nobody else."

"Nobody else," Puck echoed. It was all the words they needed.

* * *

><p>Puck sat up suddenly in the middle of the night, shocking Finn out of sleep. "Fuck!"<p>

"What? What happened?" Finn reached for his arm. "Did you have a nightmare?"

"No, man - I forgot to call _Adam!"_ He stumbled out into the kitchen to find his jeans. "I can't believe I forgot - I need to figure out a way to remember to do this. Shit."

"It's not a big deal," Finn said, yawning. "I'm sure he knows you're okay."

"No, he told me, I have to call him _every night_ before I go to sleep," he called back. "What time is it? Oh, shit, it's already past midnight there." He groaned and sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm totally fucked."

Finn grinned. "Yeah, you were."

"Shut up, man. This isn't a joke." He pressed the buttons on his phone. "I should give you his number. He told me I should give it to Kurt. You need it, too, like, just in case."

"Just in case what?"

"I don't know, like, if I die in a car crash or something, you can tell him. ... Adam." The relief on his face was tangible. In the dim light of the room, Finn saw him smile. "I'm sorry, man, I got caught up in what I was doing and fell asleep before... yeah. No, with Finn." He looked up. "He wants to talk to you."

"Me?" Finn regarded the phone with suspicion. He couldn't think of anything good that could come from this conversation. What was he going to say? He sighed. "All right." He held out his hand, and put the phone to his ear. "This is Finn."

"Finn," he heard, exactly the voice from the interviews and songs. It was a little weird and incongruous, but Finn knew this was important for Puck. "I must say I didn't expect to hear about you in Noah's bed, quite this soon. Is he all right?"

"Uh - yeah, I think so. I didn't expect it either. He's not - I mean, we're not -"

"That's your business, Finn. I won't ask, and it's up to Noah to tell me, if he wants to." He didn't sound very happy about this. "I understood the way things were long before we made our connection. I'm... happy he's getting what he needs. May I speak with him?"

"Sure, of course. Here." He passed the phone back to Puck, a little shaken. _Yeah, he's definitely in charge._ He sat on the bed, watching Puck make eyes at the phone, and felt somewhat jealous. Which made absolutely no sense, considering who was in Puck's bed right now.

After he hung up, Puck set the phone on the nightstand and took a deep breath. "Phew. I think I got away with it that time. Here, give me your phone." Finn handed over his own phone, and Puck programmed in Adam's number. "There. It's supposed to be a secret, though."

"So is this, with us," Finn pointed out, kissing him. "And I'm totally _never_ going to be able to talk about Carl. I think I can manage one more secret."

Puck laughed. "Yeah, but - dude, we're not a very well kept secret. We kind of made out on Mercedes' lawn, didn't we?"

"Kind of. And Kurt came out to pretty much the whole school about you two. I don't think we're going to be able to keep this under wraps much longer."

He saw Puck watching him. "And?"

"And what?"

"Is that okay?"

Finn grabbed him and wrestled him down to the bed, kissing his neck, just to make him laugh. "Yeah, it's _okay,_ dumbass. I love you. I love Kurt. It's all good."

Puck sighed as his laughter subsided. "I really fucking missed you, man."

"I missed you, too. Don't take off like that again, okay? I think I overdosed on Neil Diamond."

"Yeah... I can't tell you how awesome that is." Puck lay down with his head on Finn's chest and threw a leg over him, and for a minute, it was like they'd never been apart.

"It's not always going to be this easy," he whispered, and kissed Puck's head.

"No, I guess not." Puck traced a pattern on his chest. "We're both different, now. But we still have this. And Kurt, and your mom and Burt. And Sarah. That's kind of a lot, right?"

Finn hesitated, feeling the tension inside. "All my life," he whispered.

"Uh..." Puck raised himself up on his elbows and stared down at Finn. "What?"

"Nothing. Go to sleep. It's already Christmas."


	39. Chapter 39

_(Author's note: I keep hoping that they will actually open their presents, one of these days. At this rate, it will be Spring by the time they get there. Thanks to Sarah McLachlan's Wintersongs for providing an appropriate soundtrack of wistful cheer. Enjoy! -amy)_**  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Christmas Morning, 2009<strong>

Puck parked down the street, so the rattles and squeaks of his truck wouldn't alert the Hummel household of his arrival. It was early enough that he didn't think anyone else would be up, but his truck was starting to make a really unpleasant knocking noise. He guessed Burt or Kurt would be able to diagnose it. But right now, it was Christmas morning, and it didn't fucking matter whose God they were celebrating. It was important to Kurt, and Finn, and that was enough for him.

He recited the words of the Mourner's Kaddish as he stepped through the silent snow of Jefferson Street leading toward Kurt's house. The words were part of him by now. It was the way of lyrics, too - three or four repetitions and they were forever ingrained into his memory. The way the rabbi in Santa Fe had said it, it had a kind of sing-song quality to it that was comforting. He let his feet set the tempo, and by the time he got to the porch, it was almost done, so he finished it up there before he went inside. There was something about saying the words outdoors that made him feel connected to their meaning, to the recitation in Santa Fe, to the people who had said them over and over again throughout history, around the world. Even if he didn't really believe what he was saying, exactly, or in the old guy in the sky, watching over him, the words alone were - something.

Puck knocked the snow off his boots and stepped inside, as silently as he could. The house was as dark as the outside, but he knew his way around now, knew it as well as he'd ever known his own house. _His own house -_ it had been over two weeks since he'd been _there,_ and honestly he didn't feel a lot of desire to ever go back there again. He still had a lot of stuff there, though, clothes and boxes of memories and shit. He figured it'd have to happen eventually, before the bank sold it and they could move on. He hoped Meemee made something on the sale, at least.

Puck could hear a sound from the kitchen, a soft shushing sound, and some rustling and moving around. He stole around the corner, still being quiet, and peered in to find Sarah, working in nothing but the dim light above the stove, cracking eggs and whisking them furiously in the big silver mixing bowl. She tossed each egg shell at the sink, missing about a third of them, and swearing at the egg mixture.

"It doesn't mix any better if you tell it to fuck off, squirt," he said, and she glanced up, surprised. The grin on her face was worth it.

"I'm kind of thinking it does," she said. "It makes me feel better, at least. Can you take a turn? My arm is killing me."

"Whisking is totally a guy's job," Puck said sympathetically, reaching for the whisk. "We've got the biceps."

"Whatever," she said, rolling her eyes. "Nobody's awake to ooh and ahh over your stupid guns, Noah. Just beat the fucking eggs."

She put an arm around his waist and stood close to him, and cracked eggs as he made figure-eights with the whisk. "French toast?" he asked.

"Crepes, I was thinking," she said. "But we could do the creme brulee French toast if you want. Tatenui said he wanted to try it."

"Let's do both," Puck decided. "Six people eat a lot of breakfast. And you know how Finn is."

He rummaged around in the cupboard over the stove until he found the Grand Marnier, and went in the pantry for the brown sugar and corn syrup. Cooking at the Hummel's was starting to feel familiar, not like at Finn's or at his own house, but he kind of knew where things were kept now, and what kind of tools they had. Mr. Hummel bought the cheap butter, but it wasn't margarine, and when Puck had explained to him about the advantage of free-range eggs, he switched without argument. The spice cupboard was freshly stocked, now that Puck had gotten Kurt to sort through the old stuff and toss it so he could buy new.

"I wish I could design my own kitchen," he remarked, eyeing two substandard saucepans and reluctantly selecting the lesser of two evils. "You think Burt would let me renovate this one?"

"Dude," Sarah said, still cracking eggs. "Not your house, right?"

"Yeah," he said, unhappily glancing around, and sighed. "Right. Of course."

She set the whisk down and hugged him, briefly. "Maybe he would, if I asked?"

"No, you're right. Someday I'll have my own." He brightened, looking down at her. "Hey, you want to come over later and see my place?"

She preheated the oven to 350 and handed him the loaf of bread. "Maybe. I have a lot of prep to do for dinner. And Frances wants to take me to this karaoke open mic thing tonight."

"On Christmas?" Puck raised an eyebrow as he started his own bowl of eggs, vanilla and half-and-half. She shrugged. "You guys have been spending an awful lot of time together. Something I should know about my little sister?"

Sarah glared at him, opening the flour in a great puff of white dust. "Is that all you think about? Sex?"

"Pretty much," he said. He pointed his wooden spoon at her. "You're dodging the question. She important to you?"

"Of course she's _important_ to me," Sarah said indignantly. "Frances is awesome with awesome sauce." She scooped flour on top of the beaten eggs, and slowly stirred them together. "I guess I haven't had a friend like this before. Like, a best friend."

Puck nodded. "I get it. And yeah, Finn and me, we could totally have been doing stuff in middle school, if we hadn't been so freaked out about the idea. But you don't have to feel like that. She can just be your best friend without any sex stuff at all."

She was silent for a while, mixing the flour and eggs thoroughly, so there were no lumps. If you didn't beat the lumps out at the beginning, when you added the milk, the lumps were doomed to be there forever, and you'd get lumpy crepes. Which, hey, were better than no crepes, but good to avoid if you could. Sarah knew this; she paid attention to details.

He watched her stir, noticing the ways in which she was starting to look more like Santana and less like his little sister, her legs longer, her hips a little wider than they were six months ago. It made him a little uneasy, but mostly he felt proud. And fucking glad to have Carole around to help deal with the girl stuff. That made him think of one thing.

"Hey, do you have your period yet?" he said. She gave him the _duh_ look of the century.

"Since, like, last summer."

"Oh. Well, how's that? I mean - "

She shrugged. "Sucks, for a couple days. Kind of hurts, but it's not so bad. Kind of messy, too. Be glad you're gay and don't have to deal with it."

"Hey, I have girlfriends, too," he pointed out. "Just because I've got Finn and Kurt doesn't make me gay. And Adam. And... well." He wrinkled his nose. "Huh. Maybe I'm pretty much gay."

She giggled. "Whatever, Noah. You can love whoever you fucking want to love. You don't need a word to make that mean anything."

Puck took the corn syrup mixture off the stove and poured it carefully into the glass baking dish, then sliced the bread to fit inside, like a puzzle. "I don't know, squirt. But things are different now. I mean, Kurt came out about us, being a couple, to Glee, and now the whole school knows. It's a big deal."

"I heard," Sarah nodded, brushing her hair out of her face with the back of one wrist. "Frances said Danielle's brother said he had no idea about you. I guess you were pretty stealthy." She smirked. "He wouldn't have said that if he'd been sleeping in a room next to yours and Kurt's."

"Heh. Good thing his bedroom's in the basement, huh?" They exchanged identical grins. "Yeah, I guess I'm gonna have to deal with the fallout when we get back to school. I'm all, like, the poster child for closet cases or something? I don't know. It's going to be weird, and I'm going to have to forget about being popular for a little while. But it doesn't matter. I'm kind of looking forward to it. Now Kurt and I can make out in the hallway."

"But not you and Finn?"

"No," he said. He poured the vanilla cream egg mixture on top of the bread and set it in the oven, then set the timer for 45 minutes. It was supposed to chill overnight, but he usually skipped that step and it came out fine. He knew by now that you could cut certain corners when it was for family, and they'd still pretty much love it. "Me and Finn... we're okay, but he's going through a lot of shit right now... I don't know if he really wants to deal with coming out on top of that."

Sarah twisted her head to one side to peer at him. "How did you _know?_ That you wanted... the sex thing, with Finn?" She poured a healthy quantity of milk into the bowl and went on stirring. "Can you preheat the skillet?"

"Sure. Me and Finn?" He tried to remember back to the first time he realized he wanted something more than brotherly with his best friend. "Um - well, okay, there was this one time in sixth grade, when Finn broke his wrist on the skateboard. Mrs. Hudson took him to the hospital and I came along. He was totally freaking out, and he held my hand the whole way in the car. Then when we got there, I, like, put my arm around him. I practically carried him into the emergency room. I guess I just wanted to help him feel better, I didn't mean it to be anything about sex, but it was a total turn-on for both of us." He remembered Finn's embarrassment about that, and he'd just made it into a joke. "We didn't talk about it. I had a lot of dreams about it, though. I wonder if he remembers that."

She cut a slice off the stick of butter and put it in the skillet, watching it sizzle. "I think sometimes Frances wants the sex thing, with me."

He glanced at her. "Yeah? You want that?"

"I'm still not sure. I think I love her, you know, but I don't know if that's a sexy love yet. Maybe." One shoulder went up, kind of half-heartedly.

Puck felt picked up the ladle in one hand and the skillet in the other, and poured a big dollop of batter in the center, swirling it in the air to distribute the batter evenly. "You don't have to know," he said confidently, setting the skillet on the range. The idea of Sarah doing sexy things with _anybody_, girl or boy, was a kind of freaking him out, but she didn't need to know that. "You've got time."

"I guess." She looked so dismal about the whole thing that he leaned over and kissed her head. He felt her sigh as she leaned into him. "You, being gone," she said. "I know you had to do it, but it kind of sucked."

"It kind of sucked for me, too," he agreed.

She hit his shoulder and growled at him. "Dude. You totally _fell in love._ How could that suck?"

"Because things with Finn were still so bad, and I missed Kurt like hell. And you. And Burt. Things can be bad and good at the same time, you know? Falling in love with Adam didn't make me stop loving anybody else." He took the spatula and lifted up the corner of the crepe, smoothly turning it over and flipping it on the skillet. The edges were just slightly crispy, but the crepe itself was nicely flexible. He smiled at it with satisfaction.

"So this sex stuff," Sarah said, her brow knitted on her forehead. She dropped another pat of butter on the skillet and held out her hand imperiously until Puck passed it over to her. Her crepe-pouring and -swirling skills were nearly as advanced as his own.

"Yeah?" Puck rummaged in the fridge for juice. _Orange, grapefruit. Mango._ He set them on the table. "We've had that conversation before, squirt. What do you want to know?" Then he paused. "Um - you haven't -"

"Hell no," she said, frowning. "Totally not stupid here. _I'm_ not going to get pregnant in high school." Her eyebrow was the perfect accompaniment to her ironic commentary. "Or middle school. No matter how early _you_ started, most _normal_ people don't do stuff like that."

"Hey," he said mildly, grinning. "So I'm precocious."

"Yeah, and your little sister ain't." The second crepe was better than the first, which almost inevitably happened with every batch. Sarah deftly folded it in half, then fourths, with the spatula and scooped it up to stay warm on the plate in the microwave. "But..."

Puck had been waiting for that. He set a container of raspberries on the table, along with three navel oranges. "Yeah?"

She made an eloquent and rather filthy gesture with the spatula. "Well, I mean, I get how things are with a guy and a girl. And with two guys. But how does it work with two girls?"

Puck cleared his throat, feeling oddly flushed. Sex questions with his sister had never been quite so _personal_ before. It wasn't like he wasn't going to answer, but somehow, knowing that she might put his ideas into _practice_ was a little... yeah. "You've got the idea," he said indicating the spatula.

She stared at the implement in her hand, then back at Puck. "It's kind of the wrong shape."

"No, no," he hastened to explain, "dude. Not a spatula. Something like that, though. You know, uh. Sex toys, that kind of thing. Most people just use a couple fingers, like this... Look," He gave her a pleading look. "Tell me you're not going to go try this tomorrow."

"Really?" She thought about it. "Okay, I guess I can see that. Maybe I need to talk to somebody who's had more sex with girls..."

"Hey!" Now he was offended. "I've had _plenty _of sex with girls. And dude, they were _all _just fine with everything I did."

She grinned, patting his chest. "Trust me, big brother. Before I go experimenting with anybody else, I'll be sure to try everything out on myself first."

"Ooooohkay, that was _really_ more than I needed to hear," he said hurriedly, holding up his hands.

She reached up with one triumphant finger, marking a tally in the air. "Sarah, six hundred and seventy-four; Noah, four hundred and thirty."

* * *

><p>Kurt heard the sounds of water running before he was really conscious, and he turned over, pulling the duvet further over his ears. It was hard to get used to sharing a bathroom with someone, even if that someone was a really sweet eleven-year-old girl.<p>

But then the covers pulled back, and Kurt made a sleepy exclamation of surprise at the introduction of cold air into his sleeping environment. "Hey..."

"It's okay, baby," he heard Noah murmur, as his cool arms wrapped Kurt's waist. "You're going to like this."

There would be no question of that, of course, not with Noah speaking to him in that tone, without any clothes on, and doing _that_ with his talented hands and - Kurt gasped as he dipped down under the covers - mouth. He halfheartedly tried to reciprocate, but Noah firmly pushed him back down onto the bed with one strong hand.

"I got this," he said. "Just let me make it good for you."

It was hard not to do that. Kurt muffled his sounds against his own arm and tried not to buck Noah off the bed as he responded to his enthusiastic overtures. "God, Noah," he whispered. "I think I'd forgotten _just how good_ you are at that."

Noah held Kurt's hips down and did _that_ a few more times, just for good measure, and Kurt felt his eyes roll back into his head. There was no verbal response from Noah, of course, but he could feel him humming as he came, hard.

Kurt managed to drag himself off to one side before Noah returned, but Kurt was startled to see he was clothed once again, and was carrying a wooden tray with an elegant runner. A crystal vase sported one perfect red rose. Laid out on the tray was a plate of creme brulee French toast, one folded crepe, half an orange and a bowl of raspberries dusted with powdered sugar.

"Merry Christmas, baby," Noah said, smiling. "I had my breakfast. Now you can have yours."

* * *

><p>Burt heard a faint knocking on the door to his bedroom, and he sat up immediately in bed, scrambling for the light. "Kurt?"<p>

"No, it's Sarah," he heard. Their voices weren't so very different, actually, when they spoke their words that quietly.

"What's wrong?" He reached for his robe and pulled it on quickly over his boxers. _God, was he going to have to start sleeping in pajamas or something?_

"Nothing," she said. He could see her now, silhouetted in the dim light of the hallway, wearing her own robe and Tweetie Bird slippers. She had something in her hands - and what was that smell? "I brought you something. Go ahead and sit down there."

"Uh... Sarah? It's... " He peered at the clock. "Six-thirty in the morning."

"Yeah, well, we have to get started on prepping dinner pretty soon, so we had to do it a little early. You can go back to bed afterwards, if you want." He felt her hands propping up his pillow, and he sat back, bemused, as she set a tray on his lap. He blinked as she switched on the bedside lamp.

"Oh," he said in a small voice.

"Hope you're hungry, Tatenui." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I'm so happy to be here for Christmas."

* * *

><p>At first Carole thought it was just Finn, stumbling around in the dark downstairs as usual, but she sat up in a hurry when she remembered Finn had stayed over with Puck the night before. <em>And wasn't that a hell of a surprise,<em> she thought to herself, rubbing her eyes. _But then, they'd always made up when they'd had fights before, as kids. Maybe not with quite so much kissing._

She listened carefully for noises that would indicate whether she should call 911 or head downstairs with a baseball bat, but finally she relaxed when she heard Puck's voice call, "Hey, Carole, it's just me."

"How did you -?" she said, sitting up in bed. "Don't tell me you know how to pick locks, too."

"I borrowed Finn's keys," he smiled, nudging open her door. "You decent?"

"As decent as I ever get at - six forty five in the morning." She gave him a reproachful look. "When Finn was growing up, we had _rules_ about how early kids could wake up their parents on Christmas morning."

"I doubt Finn ever brought you something like this, though." He set a tray on the side of the bed that remained vacant - when Burt wasn't staying over, that was - and carefully adjusted the rose in the vase before helping her sit up with some pillows on her back.

"Well, no," she admitted. "There was that one time when he was eight, but it took me years to get the pancake batter out from between the stove and the countertop. I pretty much banished him from the kitchen after that."

"I'll have you know he can be taught to do simple tasks," Puck said earnestly, and she laughed. "If I give him a very sharp knife and lots of things to cut up, he usually stays out of trouble. Anyway - you deserve breakfast in bed every day for a year for all the help you've given Finn these past few weeks." He gazed at her gravely. "I'm really sorry I left the way I did."

She laid a hand on his. "Puck... we're just glad you're back... here. Home."

"Yeah," he echoed. "Home. I'm starting to figure out what that is." He handed her a fork, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Well, if I'm home, here's some of my home cooking. Merry Christmas, Carole."

* * *

><p>"Streetlight people… " Finn wailed, scrubbing under his arms, "living just to find emotion… hiding somewhere in the - <em>gaaaah!"<em>

"Dude, I could have come in here with a whole bag of ice and you never would have heard me coming," said Puck, stepping into the shower beside Finn. "What the fuck are you doing awake at seven-fifteen?"

"I told Sarah we could do Christmas by nine," he said. Puck's naked body beside his in the shower was about the most distracting thing he could think of, but he managed to finish his thought before taking him in his arms and kissing him. "And I don't have a car. I was going to call a cab."

"You could have just called _me,"_ Puck objected. "Anyway, I'm here. And I brought you breakfast, you dork. So much for breakfast in bed."

"Hey, I don't have any problem with going back to bed," said Finn, grinning down at Puck.

"Not yet," Puck said, grinning right back. "I've got you wet and soapy with easily accessible lube. I'm taking advantage of it. Get your hands up on that wall there, Hudson."

Finn considered reminding him that he didn't actually want any lube, but Puck remembered in time. _Getting fucked in the shower by your best friend_ was definitely going on Finn's list of favorite things to do on Christmas morning.

"You don't have any neighbors, do you," Finn panted, canting his hips back in an effort to get Puck to hit _just_ that right spot. He gasped as he found it. "Fuck - _yes,_ like that, holy shit - "

"No neighbors, nobody to hear at all," Puck said blithely, driving into him harder. "You can be as loud as you fucking want."

That was exactly what he did, and it was only gravy on top of the experience as he imagined his voice carrying through the wall to Carl's second-floor rooms, on the other side of the brick wall. Logically he knew Carl was still in Iowa, at Tessera, far away from Puck and Finn and their groans and muttered curses, but there was something compelling about the idea of Carl overhearing them, in the middle of providing services for his clients.

"God," he panted, sliding down the wet tile, legs trembling. "I think I need to sit down before I can dry off."

"Good thing I saved you for last," Puck said, turning off the spray and reaching for a towel. He wrapped it around Finn's shoulders and kissed him on the back of the neck. "Meet me back in my bed once you're dry, okay? I'm starving."


	40. Chapter 40

_(Author's note: It's been like pulling teeth for me to write this freaking Christmas scene. Thanks to everyone who helped me come up with presents. I was thinking maybe we'd get through a single chapter without any angst, but there is a little at the end._

_I am excited to announce I have a title for the next Donutverse story: The Fingers of Your Fire. It will span the rest of season one, all the way through the end of the school year, and will focus on the ghosts of our boys' past and present, parents and lovers and children. I think I can promise a little less angst than this story delivered, but I'm sure it won't be easy for any of them. Love never is, but especially when there are so many hearts involved._

_Knittycat and I are extremely pleased to have concluded the Blaine/Santana backstory in Terrific, Radiant, Humble. You really don't want to miss it, if you're reading the Donutverse. I have never been a Blaine fan, but I am absolutely in love with Donutverse Blaine. And you get a tiny glimpse in the eleventh chapter into our summer story, which we've been working on for months._

_Oh, and there's a 1000 Sarahs chapter coming soon. __As always, enjoy. __-amy)_

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><p>Puck didn't bother to try to mask the sounds of his arrival the second time he arrived at the Hummel house that morning. The sun was still just beginning to light the morning. Apparently, nobody else was crazy enough to be awake and driving around at dawn on Christmas, but even so, there was something kind of cool about holding Finn's hand in broad daylight as they climbed Kurt's porch.<p>

"Sarah's already starting prep for dinner," he told Finn. "Boy, I don't know... aren't most kids supposed to be waiting for presents on Christmas morning or something?"

"Yeah, since when is she _most kids?"_ Finn grinned. "She's got her own agenda."

Finn wasn't kidding. Sarah was a miniature whirlwind in the kitchen. When they tried to poke their heads in to invite her out to open presents, she just snapped, "Dude. What the hell kind of knives _are _these? It's like trying to cut a tomato with the side of a bar of soap."

"I usually brought my own knives over when I cooked here," Puck agreed. "I'll bring over a chef's knife later from... from the old house. Just deal for now, okay?"

"What's the alternative?" Sarah said, throwing up her hands. "But I swear, Noah, we're _not _going to carve that goose with a fucking butter knife."

"She's cooking a goose?" Finn whispered. "Like, an actual goose?"

"It'll be awesome, trust me," Puck said. "Squirt, get to a stopping point. There's a big box with your name on it downstairs."

He wandered downstairs and sat on the green couch, shifting with anticipation. Carole was lighting the decorative green and red candles that had been placed around the room, casting a rosy glow on the dim basement. She smiled at him.

"I know Hanukkah isn't the same as Christmas," she said, "as much as the December holiday people might want to make it that way."

"No," he agreed. "Hanukkah's a pretty small deal to Jews, but it got blown up because it happens to fall in December." He shrugged. "I don't think kids care much. It's just an excuse for presents."

Her smile widened. "I remember you like to give presents."

"Yeah. I like... uh." _Making people happy,_ he was going to say, but he wasn't exactly sure what she would read into that. "Giving stuff away," he finally said, though it sounded flat to his ears. But Carole seemed to understand.

"You're a generous person, Puck," she said. "With your heart, as much as anything else. Finn and Kurt see that." She leaned in and kissed his cheek, making him smile. "I do, too."

"Thanks, Carole," he said.

While Carole climbed the stairs to extract Sarah from the kitchen, Puck felt Kurt's hands on his shoulders behind him. "Merry Christmas," said his sweet voice in Puck's ear. He shivered at the sound, and leaned into Kurt's kiss, which wandered across his neck and into his hairline.

Puck was grinning big by the time he was done. "I can definitely get used to this Christmas business," he said, "if this is what it's like."

He heard Kurt's chuckle. "Something about this time of year... it makes everything seem possible. Everything that was up in the air feels resolved, everything that was scary seems calm. I love that about Christmas."

Puck tipped his head to gaze up at Kurt. "Yeah?" He could hear his own tentative tone, but with Kurt, it didn't matter. He could just be honest. "You think everything's... going to be okay?"

"Everything is okay," Kurt said. "It doesn't mean things will stay that way, but right now, they really _are. _That counts for something, Noah."

"Yeah," Puck agreed, and stretched his neck up to kiss him.

Kurt was wearing slim charcoal pants and a deep red button-down shirt, and he'd draped a soft-looking charcoal scarf artfully around his neck. There was also an un-Kurt-like Christmas tree pin sparkling on his shirt collar. "It was my mother's," he explained, at Puck's inquisitive look, and Puck smiled. He was impossibly well put together for eight in the morning on a Saturday, and he knew Kurt could tell by the way he was looking at him just how much he was enjoying it.

"Come here," Puck whispered, holding out his arms, and Kurt made his way around to the front of the couch to sit right on his lap, the way Kurt had always done with Finn. It felt so good, and for a long moment Puck just held him that way, feeling his warmth and the scent and the solidity of him.

"It's you, baby," he said into Kurt's neck. "You're what's keeping this crazy family together. You have no idea how much I missed you."

Kurt's smile made his eyes shine with gentle humor. "I think I have a pretty good idea."

"So, Puck," called Burt on his way down the stairs, "I'm informed that breakfast in bed was your doing. Now that was some inspired French toast. I'm never going back to regular old syrup and egg bread again."

"Glad you liked it," said Puck. "I wanted to give you guys something, since Sarah's doing dinner, but it was really from both of us."

Finn ducked his head down from the staircase. Puck was startled to see him in a sweater that made him look kind of... well, maybe a little...

"You're wearing it again," Kurt said, with a big smile. Finn grinned back shyly, turning pink.

"It's festive, right?" He ran a self-conscious hand down the front.

"Don we now our gay apparel," murmured Kurt, making Burt wince and cover his face with one hand, and Carole laugh out loud.

"I think you look _handsome,"_ Sarah objected hotly, and blushed crimson when Finn grabbed her and planted a kiss on her forehead.

"Oh, me, too," Kurt assured her, putting a placating hand on Finn's arm. "Just really, really gay."

"Works for me," Puck said, making Carole laugh all over again.

From Puck's lap, Kurt reached for Finn, pulled him down by his gay sweater and kissed him, inches from Puck's face. "I can't think of anything else I'd rather have for Christmas," he murmured. "Thank you both for being here."

Finn smiled into Kurt's eyes, then turned to Puck and kissed him, too. "It's a hell of a lot better than I expected we'd get this year. I still can't believe we're all together."

"Okay, quit your macking," Sarah grumbled. "I've got a half hour before the goose _has _to go into the oven, or we won't eat tonight. How does this all work?"

Burt gestured to the tree. "Kurt? You gonna play Santa?"

"It's supposed to be the _youngest_ child, Dad, not the _oldest,"_ Kurt said. "Sarah, you go get a present and deliver it to the right person. We open them one at a time, so we can take pictures and make people uncomfortable. It's just one of many traditions you'll come to love about the Hummel household."

"Speaking of traditions," Carole interjected, "you may not have noticed, but there are stockings for each of you hanging along that wall."

The stockings were bulging with vaguely spherical objects, and as Sarah delivered one to each kid, Burt cautioned her, "You really don't want to drop those."

Inside each of their stockings, amid the chocolates and trinkets, were individually wrapped glass ornaments, painted beautifully with their names and the year 2009. Sarah's ornament was amber-colored. Puck's, Kurt's and Finn's all had tiny musical notes painted around the rim, in triplet eighths. _Subtle,_ Puck thought, and grinned widely at Carole.

"Who are these from?" he asked.

"Santa," Burt said, with an answering grin. "Just a start to _your _ornament collection. We'll be sure to add to it again next year."

Kurt gazed, clear-eyed, at his dad, with such a smile of pleasure that Burt growled, "All right, all right, enough of that. Let's get some presents opened."

Sarah took the first packages from the pile, and placed them in front of Carole, Kurt, Puck, Finn and Burt. "These are all from me," she said.

Carole unwrapped a small white box and exclaimed at the earrings inside as she took off the lid. "These are beautiful, Sarah. Did you make them?"

"Frances taught me," she said, grinning proudly. "Noah, I made yours, too."

Puck tore the wrapping paper away to reveal a bracelet made of hemp, woven into an intricate pattern. Kurt helped him fasten it on his wrist, and he felt it with his other hand, smiling. "You know I'm totally never taking this off again, right?"

Kurt's was a silk scarf, painted with delicate patterns, and he made appropriate sounds of appreciation as he took off his charcoal scarf and draped the new one around his neck. "I needed one in this color," he said excitedly.

Finn opened his box, stuck his nose inside, and came out a few moments later wearing a dreamy expression. "You _baked_ for me," he said with satisfaction.

"You don't bake fudge, dork," she said, rolling her eyes. "But you get to eat it all."

Burt's package was a frame decorated with stones and shells. Inside was a photo of Carole, caught in a moment of laughter, holding her knitting and looking across the room at something someone was saying. His eyes got soft for a moment, then he turned to Sarah and gave her a half hug. "That's real nice, kiddo."

"Noah's got one more," she said, tossing the box over to him.

"Why do I get two?" Puck asked, startled, but caught the box.

"This was more like a homecoming present. And it's good for all of us. You'll see."

He ripped off the paper and sat grinning like an idiot at the professional-grade mandoline slicer. "I totally wanted one of these," he accused, looking around the room at all the faces, trying to figure out the culprit. "Who told you?"

"I just asked the guy at the overpriced cooking store what things a real chef would want in his kitchen," she shrugged, and he blinked rapidly for a few moments. "And I'm using it to cut the carrots and taro for dinner, so there."

"We can keep it here," he promised. "I'll be making more dinners over here, anyway. Thanks, squirt."

Sarah went back to the tree for another pile of gifts. "Grab those," said Finn, pointing. "They're from me."

Carole's was an envelope, and she slid the card out to find a picture of an amaryllis growing in the ground. "Flower of the month club?" she said with a bright smile, reading the card.

"They mail you bulbs or live plants, depending on the time of year," Finn explained. "I know you like to plant things."

"Thank you, sweetie," Carole said, clearly delighted. _I bet Kurt thought of that one,_ Puck thought, watching Finn's pleased expression. He tore the wrapping paper off his own present - and laughed out loud when he saw what it was.

"You really don't expect me to read this by myself?" He held up the book to Finn, who shook his head, smiling. _Neil Diamond: His Life, His Music, His Passion,_ by Laura Jackson.

"I thought we could read it together," he said softly, and leaned forward, tentatively, his elbows on his knees. "You know, out loud, like we were. If that's okay with you."

Puck flipped through the first few pages of the book, the words blurring and sliding across his watery vision, and he dashed a hand over his face. "Yeah... I'd like that, man."

Burt unwrapped a DVD set of greatest NFL moments, which inspired a flurry of conversation about the state of pro football rankings, until Kurt interrupted the argument by opening his long, flat box and exclaiming over the blue silk shirt.

"Did Rachel or Quinn help you pick that out?" Puck whispered to Finn in a free moment.

"Neither, actually," he whispered back. "I just paid attention when Kurt was looking at some magazines."

Puck gave him an admiring nod. "Props, man."

Sarah's big box turned out to hold a leather mailbag, a little smaller than her existing monstrosity of a canvas satchel, but much more elegant. She took it out and just sat with it in her lap, touching its buckles and straps and pockets with a bewildered expression.

"I thought your other bag was getting a little, I don't know, ratty." Finn shrugged. "Do you like it?"

"Uh... yeah," she whispered. "It's perfect. Thank you, Finn."

Puck didn't have to look at her to know how she was feeling. Sarah had always had a thing for Finn that rivaled his own; he didn't even attempt to tease her about it.

"Who's that one for?" Carole asked, indicating the remaining small box on the coffee table. Finn ducked his head.

"It's, uh, for... Carl," he said.

"Oh - of course." Carole cleared her throat. "You... do you want to invite him over later?"

Finn looked like he was having a little trouble swallowing. "I was thinking about calling him."

"We can have Timmy over, too," Sarah said, finally pulling her eyes away from her new bag. "I have stuff for him."

"Invite them for dinner," Burt suggested, and the room fell silent. He looked around with stubborn calm. "What? Since when do we exclude people from this house, ever? On Christmas, no less? Come on, Kurt."

"Y-yes," Kurt said hesitantly, and looked at Finn. Puck wasn't sure, but he thought there might be something pleading in Kurt's eyes. "You could. If you want to."

Finn nodded silently. "I'll think about it," he said finally.

In a clear effort to distract from the sudden awkwardness, Kurt rose from his space between Finn and Puck on the green couch and gathered up another pile of packages from under the tree, handing them out one at a time. "Carole and Sarah first."

Carole unwrapped her impeccably wrapped box and pulled aside the tissue paper with a little gasp. "Oh, Kurt, it's _beautiful,"_ she breathed, lifting out a skein of vibrant reddish-purple yarn. Puck could tell that it would be whisper-soft to the touch. There were elegant knitting needles as well, of course, because Kurt never did anything halfway. Carole was nearly in tears when she stood up to give him a kiss.

"I'll make you a scarf," she promised, and Kurt beamed.

Sarah's box held something similar, only the yarn wasn't as ephemeral. It was grey, with specks of blue and pink, and she had the same smooth wooden knitting needles. Sarah's eyes lit up as she held them aloft.

"Frances said she'd teach me how to knit," she said.

"I can help, too, honey," said Carole. "We can do that together."

Finn's shoebox-sized package turned out to _actually_ be a shoebox, complete with expensive-looking leather loafers. "Every boy needs some Prada," Kurt said, kissing him. "But you can only wear those with good socks. No tubes in these. Understood?"

"Yes sir," Finn said, grinning, and Kurt turned red from the tops of his ears on down. Puck snorted a half-laugh as Finn kissed him back. "I'll promise, I'll take good care of my awesome shoes, baby."

"You'd better," Kurt grumbled.

Burt's box held an NFL replica player jersey for the Browns, which Burt put on right away. "You knew mine got eaten by the washing machine," he said to Kurt, who nodded. "Thanks, son."

Puck looked at the two boxes in front of him with perplexed good humor. "Two for me, again?"

"Homecoming present, sweetheart," Kurt said. "You're going to have to deal with it. The whole family will appreciate it."

Puck opened the small box first - and stifled the very unmasculine squeak of excitement that threatened to escape his lips. "Isi Cream Whippers," he said happily. "I'm totally making fresh whipped cream for the pie, squirt."

"Do you see me complaining?" Sarah grinned. "Good one, Kurt. What's in the big box?"

It was a leather jacket. Like, a _beautiful_ one. Puck had never seen anything quite so elegant and so badass at the same time. "Whoa," he whispered, lifting it out of the box. Kurt bit his lip.

"Try it on," he urged breathlessly. Puck stood up and slipped it on, fastening the three buttons up the front, and Kurt gave a strangled groan.

"Baby," he said, glancing uncomfortably at Burt, who pointedly was looking elsewhere.

"Sorry," Kurt said. "I'll... let me get some more presents."

Puck kept the jacket on, though, and once Kurt came back to the couch with the next pile of gifts, his hand didn't leave Puck's sleeve for the next ten minutes.

"These are from me," Puck said, feeling the tension inside. They were all things he'd gotten in Santa Fe. He wasn't exactly sure how they would be received. On one hand, they were nice gifts, but on the other, did people really want to be reminded of Puck's surprise vacation? In the end, though, he figured it didn't matter all that much.

"You can all open the rectangular ones at the same time," he said. "They're kind of the same."

He watched while they all silently took the wrapping paper off the flat packages, all about the size of a textbook. And then Kurt turned his over, and he took a breath. "Oh," he said.

They were black and white framed photos of the desert, through which Puck had driven for far too many miles. Some were shots taken at midday; others at long-shadow twilight and sunrise.

"They're beautiful," Carole said softly.

"One of the best things about my trip was waking up to this kind of scene outside my truck window," he said. "I had to share it with my... uh, people I care about."

"Thank you," Burt said, propping his picture on the table next to the couch.

The rest of the presents were less profoundly received, but no less appreciatively for that. "You're always cold," Puck explained, as Kurt unwrapped a heavy Navajo blanket. Kurt immediately draped it over his shoulders, ignoring the musty smell that arose from the box, smiling at him, and Puck felt better.

"Dude!" Sarah shouted, pulling leather boots out of a box. She immediately shed her slippers and plunged her feet into them and laced them up against the table. "These are fucking _awesome."_

"Sarah," Burt warned.

"Sorry. But they _are._ Look!" She stood up and lifted her long peasant skirt to show off the boots, happily tromping around on the carpet. Carole gave Burt a barely restrained smirk. He sighed.

Carole thanked Puck for her turquoise inlaid bracelet, and Burt admired the matching belt buckle. Finn unwrapped his long, narrow package, and drew out a stick, about a foot long, decorated with feathers, beads and leather. He offered Puck a polite, inquisitive look.

"It's a talking stick," Puck said. "So, like, two people are having a fight, they have this stick... one person holds the stick and gets to talk, while the other person listens without interrupting or running away or... anything, and then they pass the stick to the second person, and finally they both hold the stick and talk together. Dialogue, you know." He shrugged. "I kind of figured we could use one."

Finn gazed down at the object with new appreciation, and nodded slowly. "Yeah... I think we could."

Carole went to the rapidly dwindling pile of gifts in front of the tree, got the two largest boxes, and set them on the coffee table in front of Puck. "These are from me and Burt," she said. "Consider them to be combination welcome home gifts and whatever winter holiday seems appropriate to you."

Puck shook his head, hesitating with his hand on the large box. "Carole... I don't know... I feel a little... I mean, this is too -"

"Puck." Burt's voice stopped him in his tracks. "Forget that. I'm not a religious guy, but in my family, Christmas is about one thing: spoiling the people we love. So how about you cut me a break and let me do that, okay?"

Kurt looped an arm through Puck's and held on, and somehow that helped Puck keep his wobbly chin under control and focus on tearing off the wrapping paper. When he saw what it was, he forgot his anxiety and just made a shout of excitement. "No way!"

"The overpriced kitchen store comes through again," Kurt said, happily watching Puck as he opened the Kitchen Aid mixer box. "He said no baker should be without it. The other box has the attachments. Now you can make bread to go with dinner."

"Awesome," he said, almost reverently lifting it out of its styrofoam supports. "This is - okay, I won't complain any more, but - thank you!"

"It's really a present for me," Burt said with clear satisfaction. "Because I get to keep it here, right? And that means you - and Sarah - can use it whenever you want to make the best food I've ever eaten."

"And you get to keep going to the gym three times a week to make up for it," Carole murmured, nudging him with her elbow. "Merry Hanukkah, Puck."

He scrambled to his feet to hug both Carole and Burt, still feeling ridiculously on the edge of tears, which he didn't even bother to hide. They wouldn't judge him, anyway. "Thank you," he said again.

Burt held out an envelope to Sarah. "Sorry for the lack of ceremony, kiddo," he said. "Your room downstairs could probably use some decorating. Here's your budget. What you buy, how you want it - that's up to you."

Sarah stared at the check like it held some arcane secrets of the universe. "Kurt," she said. "Will you help me...?"

"All over it, Sarah," he assured her. "I'll get catalogs and swatch books and everything. You don't have a thing to worry about."

Burt turned and fixed Kurt and Finn with an intense, focused glare. "All right, boys," he said. He put an envelope in each of their hands. "This is your present, Kurt, from me, and yours, Finn, from Carole. This is it, understood? And we're going to need to set up some very specific rules. First of all, _no drinking._ And no driving with anyone who's been drinking. I need to know -"

"Dad," Kurt gasped, eyes fixed on the contents of the envelope. "_No way."_

Finn dug into his envelope and pulled out a plane ticket. "Los Angeles?" he said, and smiled big at Carole. "You're really letting us go meet Lady Gaga?"

"I need to know I can trust you to follow through on these agreements," Burt continued steadily, still holding their eyes. "Can I, Kurt?"

"You - of course, yes, yes!" He launched himself at Burt and hugged him. Puck found himself smiling, in the presence of Kurt's jubilation, and he knew Burt was affected by it too, by the crinkle around his eyes. "Dad, I - I can't believe it!"

"Kurt, you're my son. I know you. I know your dreams. They're the same ones you've had since you were a tiny kid." Burt's eyes gleamed with pride. "How could I deny you this? It could be a real opportunity for you. It could make a difference, for your future."

"Dad," Kurt whispered. "I don't know what to say."

He touched Kurt's shoulder. "Well, you don't have to say anything. Just go ahead and take the ticket, and you show that Gaga lady what Hummel men are made of."

"Heads up," Sarah called, and Puck reached up to snag the box hurtling through the air at him. It was the Priority Mail box that had arrived yesterday, from Adam. He hefted it, unable to tell what was inside, but it felt light.

"Did you see the flower arrangement that came this morning?" Carole said, smiling. "Seems that Adam wanted to wish us all a Merry Christmas. It's on the table upstairs."

"Really?" Puck smiled back at the thought of Adam buying flowers for Kurt's dad, and cut the strapping tape with his pocket knife. "That's pretty awesome."

On the top of the crumpled paper was a small square box, with one word written on it: _Sarah._ Puck dug it out and passed it over to her. She stared at it, then unfastened the lid and withdrew a soft brown leather cuff. Attached to it was a metal plate, stamped with a quote from e. e. cummings, which read: _It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are._

"Nobody's going to believe I got this from Adam Lambert," she said with satisfaction, fastening it to her wrist.

Puck glared at her. "No, and you're not fucking telling them you did, either. He's totally gone out on a limb for me. I'm not going to risk his privacy, or his career, for anything. Got that?"

"Way to take a joke," she muttered, but subsided, sinking back into the couch against Burt. He put a light hand on her shoulder.

"What else is in the - oh." Kurt reached into the box, and then suddenly pulled back his hand as though something had bit him. He laid one palm on top, closing it abruptly. "Maybe you should open that in the _other room,_ sweetheart."

"Uh... okay." Puck glanced at the tree. "I think that was the last present, anyway."

Apparently kissing and hugging after exchanging Christmas gifts was mandatory. Puck didn't mind, but he was dying to peek in the box. Finally he was able make a dash for Kurt's room, and sat impatiently on the bed until Kurt and Finn arrived, shutting the door behind them.

"I can't _believe_ him," Kurt hissed, his eyes enormous and outraged. "Sending something like that to my house without a warning?"

"What is it, like, a bomb or something?" Finn said curiously.

Puck actually had a pretty good idea of what it was. He folded the flaps on the box back. On top of the packing paper was a leather paddle.

Finn let out a startled laugh. He reached out a hand and touched it, running a finger along the smooth leather and thick lines of stitching.

"Nice?" he said, raising an eyebrow at Kurt, who scowled, his face beet red. "Oh, come on, Kurt, are you really surprised?"

"Yes!" Kurt snapped. "Because people do not _send_ leather disciplinary implements to _my house_."

The corner of Finn's mouth made a little twitch. "Apparently, pop stars from American Idol do."

Puck picked up the paddle and held it in his palm, turning it over. It was plain, but it felt solid, well-made. His fingers found a little bumpy surface at the bottom of the handle, and upon further inspection, discovered four letters stitched in neat white script: _Noah._

"Oh," he said, and abruptly sat back on the bed. Kurt paused in his rant and looked at him anxiously, but Puck just took his fingertips and placed them on the handle, too. Kurt looked at it more closely, then made a tiny noise, clutching at Puck's arm.

"It's yours, then," he said faintly.

"I guess so," Puck agreed. "I'm not exactly sure what he wants me to do with it, though."

Finn shook his head. "I think he'll tell you."

"Well, I think I'm putting it in a drawer until he does," Puck said, opening Kurt's dresser and slipping it under Kurt's neatly folded underwear. Kurt watched him do it, still with a faint air of outrage, but he didn't comment.

"I..." Finn cleared his throat. "I guess he must... love you a lot, to get you something like that." He nudged Kurt. "Right?"

Kurt looked like he wanted to say something else, but Finn's expression apparently changed his mind. He sighed. "Yes. Of course."

Puck put his hands on the top of Kurt's dresser, letting it support him. He closed his eyes. It was just for a moment, but it was long enough for Kurt to come over and slip his arms around him from behind. Puck felt Finn's broad hand on his back.

"Noah... I'm sorry." Kurt sighed, his breath warm on Puck's neck. "It's a beautiful tool. I didn't mean to say the wrong thing."

Puck shook his head vehemently. "No! It's not that. You didn't say anything wrong. I don't even know what made me... whatever."

"I know what it was," Finn said. "I bet he misses you just as much as you miss him."

"Fuck," he whispered, and shivered, trying to calm his breathing. Eventually he was able to add, "It's just sometimes, it hits me, you know?"

Finn's hand tightened, just a little. "I know. I really know."

Kurt stroked his chest from behind, in rhythmic circles. "I missed you that way, sweetheart," he said quietly. "When you were gone."

"Me, too, Kurt." He fought for one more clear breath. "Both of you."

They stood silent for a few minutes, Puck feeling the solidity of the dresser under his palms, and Kurt's warmth from behind, and Finn's hand on his back. "I'm really fucking lucky," he choked.

"It's okay, man," Finn said, and that, from _Finn,_ was just about more than Puck could handle.

"I'm sorry, guys," he sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "It's Christmas. So much for merry and jolly and all that shit."

"Noah, you're allowed to _miss_ him," Kurt protested. "You're not doing anything wrong."

Puck tried to reconcile that statement with the memory of Kurt, crying over the phone, as he told him about Adam. "I just... I really wasn't _looking_ for him," he burst out. "I don't know what happened, Kurt, I didn't mean... all I was thinking about was you guys, and -"

"That's just about enough of that," Kurt said shortly. "We both know you well enough to understand how you love. You don't need to apologize."

It sounded good enough that Puck wanted to believe it, but he felt himself shaking his head, rejecting Kurt's words, Finn's touch, until Kurt sighed again and stepped away from him.

"Finn, can you encourage my dad and Carole and Sarah to head back upstairs?"

Puck whipped his head around and met Finn's eyes. Finn looked startled, but not upset, and to Kurt he only said, mildly, "I'll see what I can do." He leaned in and put a gentle kiss on Puck's cheek, then slipped out the door.

"Kurt?" Puck watched him warily, because Kurt was looking an awful lot like he had a goal here, and Puck doubted it was to kiss his other cheek.

"Noah," Kurt replied, his gaze steady. "Go on and get that paddle back out of the drawer."

"Uh..."

"Right now, bring it over here, to me."

Puck's hesitation wasn't because he wanted to go against Kurt's words. _Really_ - he wanted to do what Kurt asked. It was just the feeling of the leather on his hand that made him pause and leave his hand in the drawer for just a moment...

"_Noah."_

Kurt held out one hand, and Puck grasped the paddle and handed it over to him with a shaky sigh. Kurt inspected the leather, then turned his attention back to Puck.

"He sent this to you," he said firmly. "I think you need to hang on to it. Even if it makes it harder, even if you're missing... missing him. Especially if you are." Kurt held it out to Puck, and he took it back again, feeling a little numb. Then Kurt beckoned him to the bed, stretching out on his side.

"Come lay down with me, here."

Puck took a deep breath and climbed onto the bed into the space made by Kurt's body, tucking himself into Kurt's embrace. Immediately he felt better. The next breath came more easily; he concentrated on the feeling of the smooth paddle between his fingers. Kurt's arms wrapped around the outside of his arms, keeping him still.

"I want you to tell me everything about him," Kurt said softly, and kissed his neck. "Everything you discovered, last weekend. Everything you love. Don't leave out one tiny bit."

"Kurt..." He swallowed on a dry throat. "Why? Why are you doing this to yourself?"

"Because I need to understand. Help me understand what you're feeling. I can't... I can't _stand_ that there's a part of you you want to keep from me. It's not going to make me feel any better, to have you trying to protect me, all right?" He kissed him again and squeezed him more tightly. "You're still mine, right?"

"Yes, baby." Puck stroked Kurt's slender arm. "But I'm Adam's, too."

"Help me understand. Tell me about it." Kurt leaned in closer to his ear. "This isn't a request, sweetheart."

"Oh - god," Puck gulped, clutching at the paddle. "Um. Okay. It started - it started in the coffee house in Santa Fe..."


	41. Chapter 41

_(Author's note: this chapter has warnings for discipline, and sexual references of the (gasp) heterosexual kind. Also, thank you to Flynn for writing Finn's much-deserved spanking; it's really quite touching._

_For those of you who are having trouble accepting Carl and Finn's relationship, consider this possibility: Carl is Puck, in twenty years. He's the bad boy brat turned responsible Dom. Being with him is kind of a way for Finn to be Topped by his best friend. I don't think Finn would ever see it quite that way, but I sure do. Enjoy! -amy)_

* * *

><p><strong>December 25<strong>

Finn poked his nose into the kitchen, sniffing. "That goose smells pretty amazing."

Sarah didn't even turn around. "No sampling the goods, Finn."

"I'm not here for that," he protested, sliding onto a bench at the island. "Well. Maybe a little bit." He grinned. "But I can wait, honestly."

"Okay." She looked at him curiously. "So... what? You going to sit there and watch me cook? Cause it's really exciting, I can tell you."

"I know better than to offer to help. Puck never let me do anything in the kitchen." Finn peered around himself at the bowls, tureens and containers on the counter. "What's on the menu besides goose?"

"Stuffing, inside the goose. Yams, baked. Carrot and taro salad. Mashed potato, cranberry sauce, green bean casserole. Those nasty dinner rolls Puck likes, though he might actually be using the Kitchen Aid to make real bread now. Spinach salad with chestnut dressing." She opened the oven a tiny bit and inhaled. "Pecan pie."

"Sounds awesome," he said, smiling. "Thanks so much for making dinner for us, Sarah."

She blushed a little, but didn't stop her potato mashing. "It's my family, now, too."

"It always was."

Sarah shrugged. "Kind of. I felt like I was mostly tagging along. But now - Tatenui, he's got me and Kurt, and you've got Kurt and Noah, and Noah's got the two of you..." She cocked her head. "Your mom - you think she feels like she's kind of tagging along, now?"

"Uh," Finn said, startled. "I - I don't think so. She and Burt... I mean, right?"

"Yeah, sure, but she doesn't have anything that's just _hers._ Tatenui's got us to take care of."

"She's taking care of Burt," he said, and then realized what he'd implied. _Huh._

"I guess." She slid a plate of veggies from the fridge and began slicing them for the salad. That mandoline slicer was clearly sharp; it seemed like it took almost no effort at all to make the julienne cuts. "Someday, you think they might get married?"

"Maybe, but I wouldn't be in any hurry to ask them that. They're trying to take it slowly. These things take time, you know. And even when you're married, it's not always forever."

She shrugged again. Finn watched her closely as she scooped the vegetables into the salad bowl and tossed them with the spinach. "Sarah..."

"I know it's not exactly my business," she said, tense and quick, bowed over the salad. "But I was hoping - it kind of felt like maybe you, and Noah, and now Kurt - that it wasn't going to go away. That it _could_ be forever."

"Sarah, are you asking me to marry your brother?"

He'd said it kind of like a joke, but the look she shot at him told him _she_ wasn't joking. "You guys broke up," she accused. "And it really, really _sucked."_

"Tell me about it." He leaned his chin in his hands. "I screwed up. But I think things are better, now."

She shook her head irritably. "But it's _different _now. Because there's Adam. And Carl, right?"

"Uh... yeah," he said. "Carl."

He thought she might have something else to say about that, but he waited, and no other words seemed to be forthcoming. "It doesn't mean we don't still love each other," he ventured. "You know?"

"No, Finn, I _don't_ know." She got the cranberries out of the fridge and measured out a cupful of sugar, dumping it into the bowl with a _bang._ He'd never realized that measuring could be so violent. "This is all new for me, okay? I didn't even know you _could _love more than one person."

"Well, me, either, actually," he said, but she was still talking.

"I mean, what if love isn't like an ocean or a fountain or something like that? What if it's like a spring in the ground, and eventually it... runs out?" She wiped at her eyes with the side of her sleeve and made a loud noise of frustration. "You guys can't use up all your love on other people and have none left for each other."

Finn smiled. "Does it really look like we don't have any left for each other?" he asked. "Look, I know it's confusing and scary and stuff, but you're going to have to trust something. If Puck and me can get through the crap we just faced and still have Christmas together, I think we're doing pretty well. And - come on. I've been friends with Puck since second grade. You think I'm going to stop loving him now?"

"That's what my dad did," she said, her voice flat. "He stopped loving my mom. I don't think you really get to ask that question, Finn."

"No, Sarah." He stood up and went to where she was standing, putting firm pressure on her shoulder until she turned around to face him. Her chin was raised defiantly, but he could see how much she was struggling to keep it together. _I know how that feels,_ he thought. _She's like me._ He fixed her eyes with his. "I'm telling you. I'm not - I'm never going to stop loving him. If I thought he wouldn't laugh in my face, I'd give him a ring tomorrow. Him and Kurt both. Okay?"

She stared up at him, frozen in the face of his blatant honesty. "Okay," she whispered.

He sighed. "Don't say anything to them. Please. Things are complicated enough right now. We don't really need to add anything else."

"You're going to tell them, though." Her eyes were pleading. "Right? I mean, you can't keep something like that to yourself forever."

"Yeah, but I'm supposed to be the careful one here, the cautious and slow one." He tried smiling. "I don't think proposing after two months of dating really fits in that category. Check back in a year, okay? We'll see what's going on then."

She cast around herself in frustration. "A _year?_ Finn, what the fuck am I supposed to do until then?"

He reached over, picked up a piece of carrot and popped it in his mouth. "Let's start by eating your awesome dinner."

* * *

><p><strong>December 26<strong>

Kurt picked up the phone with dread, staring at Finn's address book. _It's not getting any better,_ he told himself. _He was more miserable and jumpy this morning than ever. _

Before he could talk himself out of it, he flipped forward to _Carl - private,_ and pressed Send.

"Finn," Kurt heard Carl say, and he sounded surprised.

"No, Dr. Howell, this is Kurt," he said, before Carl could say something he wouldn't want Kurt to hear coming out of his mouth. "Sir."

"Oh - Kurt? Is everything all right?"

"Yes," he hastened to say. "We're all fine. Uh - Noah came home this week, as you know. I wanted to thank you for giving him a place to stay. I'm so relieved to have him home."

"It's my pleasure to help him, Kurt," Carl said calmly. "I'm sure he's happy to see you, too. Are you having a good Christmas?"

"Yes... a very good one. But I'm calling about Finn."

There was a pause. "Yes?" His tone was remote, but congenial enough. "I hear relations between the three of you are much improved."

"Things between the three of us better, thank you." Kurt took a deep breath. "Finn... he's having a hard time. We tried to get him to invite you over for Christmas dinner, but he was agitated at the idea. Noah and I both... we think he needs something. Something he can only get from you. He needs you to take care of him."

"Kurt..." Carl sounded regretful, now. "We're trying to take it slow."

"But you're the only one he'll let do that," he protested. "We did what we could. He won't let us do any more. And trust me, he's falling to pieces without you."

He heard Carl take a shaky breath. "All right. I'll take care of it, Kurt. Please, don't worry about Finn. I'll be home tomorrow."

It was odd, considering the way that Carl's relationship had begun with Noah, but somehow Kurt found himself relaxing as he said those words. _I believe him. More than that... I trust him. I trust him with Finn._

"That would be a big relief, sir," he said. "Thank you. Do you want me to let him know you'll call him?"

"I'll take care of that too." Kurt could hear the resolve in his tone. "It's going to be fine."

* * *

><p>Tess looked up from her desk at the light tap on her door - not Stephen, nor James-<p>

"Come, please," she called. She folded her reading glasses and laid them down on the desk, looking up to the sight of her boy, looking intensely tentative, and more than a little shaken.

"Jesse." Tess rose from her desk to take his arm, and he looked obediently up at her, just as he always had. She led him over to the comfortable couch, and seated him with herself quite gently. "Talk to me, sweetheart."

She let him sit, just waiting patiently, a gentle hand rubbing over his shoulders until he was ready to speak.

"I'm feeling conflicted, Tess." He brushed a hand over his forehead, hesitating. "I saw Finn the night before I returned. We just had coffee, that was all, but I'm pretty sure... he's struggling. The phone call I just received from Kurt confirmed it." His eyes were pained. "He's asking me for discipline, but Tess, I really don't think I can do it."

"_Carl Jesse Howell_." She restrained herself from swatting him, holding her hands in her lap, relying on her intense gaze instead. "Do you mean to tell me that you gave that young man a 'maybe' before you travelled home, and then when you _arrived_, you left him _unspanked_? Despite his obvious distress?"

"Tess." He shook his head in despair. "Believe me, I thought this through, and there's absolutely no way on God's green earth that I could spank that boy without wanting to... do nefarious things to him. I have zero self-control right now around him - you heard me on the phone! I'm grasping at any tiny shred of self-respect I have as it is. You can't ask me to be in his presence with a paddle." Jesse shuddered.

"And what, pray tell, have I tried to teach you over the years about _self-control_, young man?" It was all she could do to keep from gritting her teeth, listening to him beginning to wallow again.

"If I had any at all, Tess," he said, with a look of appeal, "would I have let him kiss me in the first place?"

"Do you know, Carl Jesse," she said, grey eyes boring into his as she leaned closer into him than she had in years. "I do believe that you and I have some... _time_... together, here, and it's rather foremost in my thoughts that I shall give you a reminder or two about this little thing called self-control." Her voice was silky. "Now, you know what to do, Jesse. Where ought your pants and trousers be, right now, little boy?"

He stood up, horrified. "You can't spank me for - for _not_ spanking someone!"

She shook her head and reached for the button of his blue jeans, popping it open, and slipping the fly down. Jesse pulled backwards, but she had her fingers hooked in the front of his jeans, awfully close to some very sensitive parts.

"Pull them down, Jesse."

"No!" he snapped.

Tess gazed up at his thoroughly offended countenance, an eyebrow reaching incredulously upward, she repressed herself from heaving a huge sigh.

"One," was what she said instead.

"Tess, there's no way you - what?"

"_Two."_

"You can't possibly be counting - I'm not - you-"

Tess very gently took in the breath to give him the final number, and Jesse finally shoved his pants and shorts down roughly, looking like a sulky child.

"Right over my knee you go. There we are." She didn't waste further words on her stubborn charge, and simply let the flat of her palm speak sternly to him, the spanks landing measured and sharp across the pale surface of his backside. Tess didn't intend to spank him particularly hard; she understood very well what he was trying to tell her, and she wanted to make it quite clear to him that narrow-minded, unclear thinking had no place in a Top's relationships. Or, for that matter, leaving thinking by the wayside in favor of the sulking he was so capably demonstrating. After she'd turned his bottom a nice shade of bright pink, she paused, letting her hand rest on the warmth.

"Are you ready to settle down and speak to me like an adult, and not a five-year-old in FAO Schwartz for the first time?"

"As persuasive as you can be," he said, wincing at the smart on his bottom, "I don't think that's going to make it any easier for me to resist that boy."

Another harder slap smacked down on his ass. "I can unleash my quirt," came the dry words. "If you need further convincing."

"I don't think you can spank the self-control _into _me, Tess," he said, sounding defeated.

"I think spanking self-control into you has worked very well previously," she told him, tone tart. "But I will give you the opportunity to defend yourself, here. If you dare be snotty with me, I will take the hide off of your bottom, Carl Jesse. Now tell me exactly _why_ you are leaving self-control to the wind?"

Carl's response came after a long pause. He was nothing if not thoughtful - sometimes too much so - even in this precarious position, turned bottom-up over her knee. He rested his head on the couch. "Finn's embarking on an entirely new part of his journey here," he said at last. "Tess, he didn't even _realize_ he wanted this until a few days ago. I'm not going to ask him to deal with the confusion of... of an adolescent crush at the same time that he's learning the ins and outs of belonging to someone. I can't put that on him. It's going to have to be slow... or not at all."

Tess let that stand for a moment, then brought a tremendous pair of swats down, one on each cheek. "Belonging to _whom_, Carl Jesse."

"Belonging to _me,_" he said hotly. "He's _mine."_

Tess leaned down to his ear, letting her breath tickle his earlobe, in the way she knew would annoy him just so. "Tell me, love, what do you do for boys who _belong_ to you, when they need a spanking?"

He ground his teeth together. "I _don't_ take advantage of them when they're vulnerable."

Another round of blazing swats landed on the mess of his backside. "What would _you_ have done, young man, if I'd left you to your own devices when you were vulnerable and challenging me?"

"It's not the same," he protested. "You didn't - I mean, there's no way you could have felt like this about me."

She ignored that. "_Do_ you know what Finn needs?"

"Yes," he said, closing his eyes. "Only too well."

Tess shook her head, wondering if there were more grey hairs charging to the forefront of her dark locks. Her palm cracked down on the reddened surface of his behind yet again.

"_Now,_" she ordered. "_What_ does Finn need?"

"He needs to be spanked, ma'am!" he cried out.

"And it sounds to me as if the young Top, whom I trained so carefully, is refusing to give a brat what he needs. Is that accurate?"

Carl descended into desperate tears. "I can't - I can't make a mistake here, Tess, I just _can't._ He's too important. He's such a good boy. I can't fail him."

Tess' hand caressed over the heated surface, leaving no inch of it uncovered, her fingers beginning to dip suggestively between his thighs, as they once had - just the merest of suggestion, waiting.

Carl squirmed under her touch, his breath stuttering. "God. Tess, I - I can't, not _now_ -"

Tess leaned down again, letting the loosened hairs from her upswept hair brush his sensitive ear just as her breath did. "Tell me what you're _feeling,_ Carl Jesse. I suggest honesty."

"You know exactly what you're doing to me," he retorted, his face flaming. "And it won't work. We can't - _god, _Tess."

Her touch ghosted down across the hardness of him. "This? Is this what I've done to you?" Her hand returned to the reddened buttocks, palming down firmly, making him squirm further.

"You always have," he sighed. "I'm helpless under your hand."

She smacked him hard, just at the junction of buttock and thigh, listening to his yelp with satisfaction. "We had that, didn't we, boy," she whispered, still close to his ear. "Lovers know things about one another. Those things never change; you still know what Davis wants, what he needs, even now, don't you, Jesse? But..." She let the words trail off into a long silence, feeling him quiver underneath her hand. "Just because I might feel the same heat you do, right now, even after all these years, my love, doesn't mean that I act on it. NO-" she said sharply. Another harsh swat came down, stilling the words and actions that were brimming on the surface.

"I, my boy, have a little something called _self-control_, which lets me string you out over my knee to spank your naughty little bottom red, and still, _still_ remain faithful to my partner. So what do you think now about denying your boy?" The intensity of her focus was almost painful for her, but she knew they were close.

"I think you have more faith in me than I have in myself," he said, low and cold, "if you think I can do what you do. I've never been you."

She had every sympathy for his self doubt - but if he really intended to follow through with young Finn, she knew he had to let it go. And it wasn't going to be an easy road, much to her chagrin. The chilly tone hurt her, though long experience let her bury that, knowing that it was simply a function of his lack of understanding. "You won't ever be me, darling. We're two very different people. But you... I know you have this in yourself, Jesse my love. You have demonstrated that control with me time after time, over the years. You've gotten through a commission you hated. Through graduate school. Through impossible poly relationships. I do believe that if Finn needs a spanking, that you, Jesse, will _give_ him a spanking, and nothing more. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, ma'am," he whispered.

"Now tell me, my little love. Does Finn need... _more_ than a spanking?"

His head jerked up. "I don't - what do you mean?"

Her hand caressed again over the heated skin of his flinching bottom. "Come up here, and sit with me," she said suggestively, knowing that he'd understand that she wanted him in her lap.

He sat up slowly, watching her face with intense concentration. "All right," he said, and leaned against her side, carefully avoiding sitting on the surface of his behind.

Tess kissed his cheek, slowly, with care, and the infinite love she felt for him. "Lay your head, darling," she said, a gentle hand drawing his head to her shoulder. "There you are, little love. I think you know what I mean, honey. There are times when Finn is going to be nothing but naughty, times when he'll be nothing but needy. Those will be times when he needs a spanking from you, the kind of hard spanking that makes him cry, and cling to you, where you hold him tight, and rock him and let him cry. Do you understand that part, lovey?" She was rocking him gently as she spoke.

"Yes - yes, we've done that," he said, relaxing into the motion of her body. "It has helped him, I know it."

Tess patted his bottom. "You haven't done that as simply Carl and Finn, though. I think that you will find there is a difference between Carl and Finn, client, and Carl and his _boy,_ Finn."

She could see how he was struck by this concept. "Yes," he said, hoarse and wide-eyed. "I'm sure you're right."

"Now my love," Tess asked quietly, not ceasing to hold him gently and firmly. "Tell me. Are there times when your boy will simply need a spanking, and not need you to make love to him?"

"Certainly." He sounded very relaxed, now, and her touch was easing his tense muscles even further.

"There's my boy - that sounds like you are thinking, sweetheart. Think just a little further, my love. Does he need a spanking right now? Or does he need more?" Her hand slid up his back, rubbing at his shoulders, and the back of his neck, which felt chilled. He always did chill, when he was distressed, and she remembered fondly when it wouldn't have taken so much work to help him feel better.

"I - I'm not sure I know the difference between what he needs and what I want, Tess." His voice dipped into a low throb. "There's so much there."

Her arms tightened around him as she rocked, and he felt the gentle kisses on his forehead and temple. "Of course there's depth there, Jesse. It's all right, sweetheart. Getting to know someone is about exploring those depths." Her voice darkened with intensity. "What I _need_ you to do, little love, is to talk to me, and to start to distinguish those two things, because they are very, very important. Do you -" She found she had to swallow. "Do you remember that vacation, at Capistrano, in that dim and quiet monk's cell, when we made love for the first time?"

He gazed into her eyes, and raised one hand to brush her cheek. "I could never forget it."

"Thank you," she told him gravely. "That wasn't, by far, the first time I wanted you that way. Now. I'm going to ask you a hard question, Jesse. Would it have been better for you, for you and your own growth as a person, if I had said yes sooner than that? You'd been asking for months, by then."

He thought about this. "I wanted it," he agreed, "but I trusted you to set the pace, as I trusted you to teach me about so many other things. I think it was just right."

She kissed his forehead again. "Sweetheart. I know you're not me. But I truly believe that you can set a pace with Finn, to teach him gently, slowly, and lovingly. Do you see what I'm getting at, dearheart?"

"I do," he said, sighing, and rested his head on her shoulder again. "Again, you may have more faith in me than I do in myself. I may have the best intentions to care for him, to be patient and respectful of his boundaries. But, trust me, the way I reacted to him when he chose his own tool for his spanking and - entirely on his own, mind you - presented it to me with all due ceremony. On his knees." He closed his eyes. "I'm only human, Tess."

Tess brushed the hair back from his face gently. "Of course you are. It is all right to want him so much. Jesse, what I want to understand from you... if it comes to Finn needing discipline, and not sex, can you handle that? Execute those responsibilities without crossing that boundary?"

He looked torn. "Kurt said he wouldn't let anyone else - that _I_ was the only one who could -" He had to pause for a moment, breathing, before continuing. "If that's true... I don't see how I could fail to give him what he needs. No matter what else I may want with him."

If he'd had trouble breathing before, he was definitely in difficulty now, as Tess' wiry arms wrapped around him and squeezed. "I am _so_ proud of you," he heard, and she sounded choked to him.

When he was able, he turned to her, and could see clearly that there were unshed tears standing in her eyes. "You make me believe in myself, Tess." He stroked her hair. "I don't think I could ever thank you enough for that." Leaning in, he placed a soft kiss on her cheek.

"Shhh," she gentled. "Thank me by sitting here and letting me feel you are safe, and all right, Jesse, love. Let me hold you."

* * *

><p><strong>December 27<strong>

Finn looked at himself in the mirror again. "You think it's okay?" he asked, for what must have been the fifteenth time.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Finn. You're obsessing. It doesn't become you." He brushed imaginary dust off the front of Finn's blazer. "He's _seen_ you before. _ All_ of you. This doesn't have to be a big deal."

"No," he said. But it was, and Kurt knew it. Finn tried to explain. "It's not that it's _him,_ so much as it's... it's _Him."_ He blinked at Kurt. "Do you know what I mean?"

Kurt nodded. He remembered clearly how things had changed between Finn and himself, before and after he'd admitted to Finn what he wanted from him, and Finn had given him the control and discipline he'd craved. Now it was hard to see Finn any other way. Kurt rested his head on his shoulder briefly. "I know exactly. But he liked you before, just fine. It'll be perfect."

"And you aren't bothered by me... doing this with him?"

Kurt regarded his anxious face. "Noah told you it didn't bother _him_, right? And who put the phone into your hands, to call him? You need this, Finn."

He shook his head. "You're not answering my question."

Kurt sighed. "I don't know if I have an answer that will satisfy you. Does it bother me? Yes, a little, but like I said before, it's not because _you_ need this with _him._ It's because I'm afraid you'll stop wanting to do what _I_ need, with you. See? I'm entirely selfish."

Finn laughed. "Selfish is not the word I would have chosen, baby." He kissed his forehead, then held him tight. "God, I love you so much."

"I love you, too, Finn. Careful, you're rumpling your blazer." Kurt put restraining hands on his chest and took a step back. "You look fantastic. He'd be a fool to resist you."

"That's kind of the point, Kurt." Finn's eyes were haunted. "He is resisting. I don't even know if he's interested in me... that way. Maybe I'm just a kid to him. Maybe it's stupid for me to want anything else. Both of us - we're stuck on _maybe."_

Kurt would have said, had this been anyone other than_ Finn,_ that he was pouting. He sighed. "I guess you'll just have to talk to him, then. Will you come over later and tell me what happened? Or at least call me. You know I'm going to be awake, thinking about this."

"All right." Finn squeezed his hand and took a deep breath, facing the door. "Here's me, not freaking out."

"You'll be fine." And that was the best thing about their relationship: he really did believe in Finn. He _knew_ he would be fine. He gave him a gentle push toward the door, and Finn stumbled forward, laughing. "Watch out for the ice on the porch."

Finn's voice drifted back to Kurt just before the door closed behind him. "You're taking good care of me, baby."

_I'll do my part, Finn,_ thought Kurt, leaning against the wall. _Now let Carl do his._

* * *

><p>Carl readjusted the photos on the wall in the reception area for the third time.<p>

"Can I get you anything, sir?"

He knew Angela was just trying to be helpful, but there was nothing he could think to do, and that just wound him up tighter. He went through some quick relaxation exercises, and shook his head.

"Sir - if I might be so bold?"

She was gazing at the floor with a thoughtful tension. He nodded at her.

"Go ahead, Angela."

She looked up, then, briefly, and smiled. "He loves you, sir."

So Finn had said, on the phone, less than a week ago. Meeting for coffee and donuts had been one thing, but this - this would be the first time he'd be seeing him alone since things had changed between them. Since Finn had said the words that had turned his world on its head: _sir,_ and _I'm in love with you._

"He's just a boy," he said, trying to sound dismissive. "He doesn't know what he's feeling."

"No, sir," she said, shaking her head. "He's young, but he's not _just_ anything. He's a lot of things. And one of them - I could see it, weeks ago - one the things he is, is definitely in love."

Carl gazed at Angela, crooking an eyebrow. "You're an authority on feelings of that sort, then?"

"I think I know a little, sir," she said. "But I don't have to be in love, myself, to recognize it."

Carl thought about the last time he'd thought he'd been in love. Things with Bebe had been hot and passionate, but they had fallen apart fairly quickly once they'd figured out they weren't compatible sexually. She'd wanted him, and he'd wanted her, but it just hadn't been enough. Her husband at the time, on the other hand... he'd been a different story. Young - not quite as young as Finn was now, but eighteen and and completely naive, he'd taken a lot of convincing even to get him in bed with the two of them together. Carl smiled. Davis had been so sure he was straight. And it had turned out that the leather and all its accompanying possibilities had been exactly what he'd needed.

Yes, once things with Bebe had fallen apart, once she had decided to take off for New York to wait out her pregnancy in sullen solitude, he and Davis had had to come to terms with their own attraction for each other. It had grown out of friendship, which had made it even better. Even now, years after that part of their relationship had ended, they were still close friends. Carl felt so fortunate to have that.

Davis had been his boy, but Carl himself had been a new Top then, still learning his own way out of submission into Dominance of himself and others. Their dynamic had been more like lovers, equals, who were figuring it out together. Davis had demanded intense sensation - what just about anyone else would have called _pain_ - and, while Carl was equipped to deal it out, it wasn't what he himself preferred. For Davis, pain was just another form of stimulation, but to Carl, pain _hurt._ It was a strange position to be in, trying to discipline a boy who _liked_ it when you beat him harder. Once he'd realized what was going on, it had been clear that Carl wasn't going to be the best Top for Davis, and they'd parted ways equitably, with love and mutual respect. Neither of those things had ever been lost between them.

Carl appreciated the subtleties of submission, the ceremony, the grace and beauty of a bowed head and a fettered foot. He taught Davis to do as he was told, but Davis' heart wasn't in it. It didn't fulfil him, to serve, to take direction, to receive praise, the way it had fulfilled Carl as a submissive. Tess' elegance and her appreciation for lovely things gave him a place to begin, to build his own set of rules and structures within which his subs and slaves could let go of their own identities and become formless, malleable creatures to be shaped by their owners' will. He hadn't ever had the freedom to do it himself, completely, but it gave him an intense satisfaction to see his own clients' needs fulfilled so utterly.

Since he and Davis had parted, however, he'd had no boy of his own. He'd mostly filled his days since then with work, and in meeting the needs of his clients. There was no time for romance or sex or other trivial details. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed it until it was sitting on his couch, gazing at him with a crooked smile and brown, thoughtful eyes, and standing propped with both hands against his fireplace wall, saying _How do you want me?_ - and hadn't _that_ prompted a hell of a dream. If he hadn't been certain of his unfortunate attraction for Finn before, he'd been damn sure of it by the following morning.

And then to have Finn offer, unbidden, his own devotion to Carl, in the form of the word _sir,_ in the unconscious postures of his body, in the delicious hesitation of his breath when Carl used the Voice on him - _that_ had been enough to make him lose his head entirely. Not to mention his heart.

He closed his eyes and swallowed. He'd promised Tess he would give Finn what he needed, and nothing more. This was his opportunity to show the _self-control_ he'd been working on for the past eighteen years. He'd have to be strong, and calm -

And _fuck,_ if Finn wasn't wearing a goddamn _blazer _that went perfectly with his eyes. Carl regretted his own business casual immediately; it never felt good when his subs were dressed better than he was. On the other hand, Finn was a Top in his own right. He stifled his sigh. In some ways, this was more complicated than any other relationship he'd navigated before.

But as Finn stepped through the door, hands held tentatively at his side, and offered Carl a shy smile, it also felt remarkably, breathtakingly simple.

Finn stopped at the desk. "Hi, Angela." He set a potted pointsettia on her desk. "How was your holiday?"

"Fine, thank you," she said, with an affable return smile and a notable lack of title for Finn. "I'm glad to hear Puck's home now."

"So are we," he nodded in clear relief. Then he turned to Carl, hesitating, uncertain. Waiting.

"Finn," Carl said.

"Sir," Finn replied, his voice and his eyes equally soft. "Welcome home."

"Won't you come back to my office?" He turned and went without waiting to see if Finn were following, before that gaze could be his undoing. If he could remember that all he had to do was to get through the next sentence, the next moment, he thought he might actually be able to manage it.

He opened the door and directed Finn to the chair beside the couch. "Thanks for agreeing to see me." He'd hesitated before making the phone call, but Tess' instructions had been clear. Finn needed something, and he was here to provide it. That was his primary concern. The rest... could wait.

"I wanted to," Finn said. He thrust out a small box, wrapped in silver paper. "Uh, Merry Christmas."

Carl took the package and turned it over and over in his hands. "That was thoughtful of you, Finn," he said softly. Not that he would expect anything less from him. "Do you want me to open it now, or wait?"

"Um... either way is fine." It was probably true, but the restlessness Carl saw in him, the way his eyes darted to the floor and back, told him to set it on his desk.

"I have something for you as well, but we can get to that later. How are you feeling?"

Finn clasped his knees and watched Carl with anticipation. "It's been a long week, sir," he admitted, laughing. His smile was infectious, but as Carl smiled back, Finn caught his breath, his eyes darkening and his expression losing much of its restraint. It would be easy to abandon his self-control, looking into those eyes. _You can do this,_ he told himself sternly.

"Am I to take that to mean you're struggling with something?" he said smoothly. Finn's gaze dropped to his lap, his face red.

"Things with Puck, sir. He's... um. He did... something." He paused, with a flickering glance up at Carl. "It's a little strange to be talking about my sex life with you, sir."

"Finn, you've done an admirable job with being frank and honest in our interactions so far. I don't think either of us is served by a concern for modesty." He settled on the couch, not quite close enough to touch him. "Be assured, there's nothing you can say that will offend me."

"Okay. We... back at the beginning of November, we... all of us, we had, you know. Sex. For the first time."

"All right," he said, trying to hide his smile. The last thing he wanted Finn to think was that he was laughing at him.

"I kind of set it up, so it would be special for them. Because I wanted to take care of them. You know, to make it amazing. So it was, um, Kurt on the bottom, and Puck inside him. And me, telling them what to do. I kind of took over at the end, me inside of Puck."

Carl nodded, not quite trusting his voice. The scenario was so similar to events from his own history, with Bebe and Davis, the memories fresh enough to have happened one year ago instead of sixteen, that it was almost excruciating to hear Finn discussing it now.

"And then, we each had a date night a few weeks ago, and Kurt - he, uh, was inside me."

Carl couldn't resist asking, "How was that for you, to have your boy on top?"

Finn's eyes went far away, remembering. "It was - amazing. I mean, he wasn't in charge or anything, he was just... uh. And I kind of knew I would like that, because they'd done - things, to me, before. Fingers, and tongues." He quivered, like a tuning fork, and Carl made a noise that could have been sympathetic or simply desperate. "We did it again, last week, only I was definitely in charge that time." And then his cheeks went red again.

"What is it, Finn?"

"I - I just realized, sir," he stammered. "That was the night you... showed me the flogger. For Kurt."

Carl swallowed, trying to summon moisture to his dry mouth. "Am I to take it, then, that it was... effective?"

"Yeah," Finn whispered. "Very."

Carl wanted to calm him, but in this state, anything might be perceived as being too forward, so he kept his hands to himself and simply said, "Finn, there's no shame in being aroused by that."

"I know," he said, "oh, don't think I'm ashamed. I'm not even embarrassed. I'm just really..." And he cast a look of such profound longing at Carl that he physically flinched, rocking back in his seat. "I _really..."_

Carl let the silence hang there between them, tantalizing. _Finn should be able to ask for it,_ he thought, but didn't want to push it. Not yet. Eventually, Finn sighed and looked away.

"Anyway... Puck never... was inside. Me. Until the other night. Kurt told him that, just for that night, _I_ was his baby. And it was okay. I mean, it's not what I would usually want from them, but I was... um." He gazed at Carl. "Lonely, sir. Which felt a little strange, considering I had Puck home, and Kurt right there, and my whole family -" He choked off, mustering control.

_And this was exactly what Tess was talking about. He needed me, and I wasn't there. _ Carl felt a stab of self-recrimination, but now wasn't the time for that. He could help him _now. _

"It's okay, Finn, you're all right." He reached out and took his hand, clasping it tight. Finn's grateful look tore at his heart, but he didn't let go. They sat there for a good minute, not speaking. Then Finn's confused whisper broke the silence.

"I keep asking myself - is this really happening? Because it kind of feels like something I'm making up in my head. I don't have anything... _anything,_ other than your words, to tell me that I... that we..." His plea was clear on his face. "I don't even think I can say it. But... _maybe_... is kind of killing me, sir."

Carl gripped Finn's hand tighter and made himself meet his eyes with steady calm. "Finn, I need to apologize for that. I spent several days agonizing over whether or not this was a good idea at all. But you deserve certainty from me." He took Finn's other hand and tugged him around to face him, their knees inches apart, and took a deep breath. "I think we have to be _very clear_ about the difference between what we might want, and what I think we're ready for."

Finn's face was suddenly pale. His lip trembled. "What... _do_ you want, sir?"

_What I want._ He felt like laughing, but clearly Finn wasn't ready for _that._ He ran gentle thumbs over the bones in Finn's hands. "You're a thoughtful, honorable young man, Finn. I have... great respect for you, and the way you've handled your boys. No, I know," he interjected, as Finn attempted to protest, "that episode with Puck, striking him that way - it was a mistake. You'll make those. None of us are perfect. If you'll recall, we did take care of that. So let's not dwell on it. You won't let your anger get the best of you again. Right?"

"No, sir," Finn said, with fervor.

"That's my good boy," he said, and right away, with no warning, Finn began to cry.

"I'm - I'm sorry," Finn blurted, dropping Carl's grasp and covering his mouth with the back of one horrified hand. "I'm supposed to be in charge, but right now I can barely take care of myself - God, I'm such a fucking mess."

"Finn Christopher _Hudson,"_ Carl snapped, and Finn jerked back like he'd been slapped, eyes wide and shocked. "We're going to get this clear _right now._ At your house, _who_ is in charge?"

"I - I don't know anymore," he cried in anguish. "I used to be, but -"

"And when you are here, or at _my_ house, who is in charge _there?"_

"You are," said Finn, sniffing. Carl gave him a pointed glance. "Sir," he added hurriedly.

"That's right, my boy. Don't forget it. It's not your responsibility to worry about taking care of yourself when you're with me. Because _you're mine,_ do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," he whispered, and a startled smile broke through the tears.

"Come here," Carl said, coaxing him onto the couch and into the crook of his arm. Finn lay with his head folded onto Carl's chest, and as one body, they took a collective breath in and out, relaxing.

"I need this," Finn murmured. "I - I can't even believe I never realized, I want it so much."

Finn's body was longer, lankier than Davis', but the feeling was similar, and he fit so precisely against Carl that it seemed strange that he had even questioned whether this was all right. He spoke in quiet, comforting tones as he stroked Finn's hair. "Whatever else we are, whatever else we - want... this part, you being my boy - I know _this _is real. You can depend on that."

"Thank you, sir," he choked out, and Carl felt him crying quietly into his shirt. _All right,_ he thought, in a peaceful haze of calm. _He's ready._

"You've been holding on to so much," he continued, in the same hypnotic tone. "So afraid to let it go, to let down your guard. Afraid to appear weak in front of those you've led before. Afraid to fail again."

"Yes," Finn sighed.

"I think it's time to put that all down now, Finn. Do you think you can do that?"

He turned his face into Carl's chest, clutching at him with one feeble hand. "I don't know."

"It's okay. Shhh." He pulled back, digging in his pocket, and wiped Finn's face with his handkerchief. "I want to help. I can take care of it. Will you let me?"

Finn's gaze flickered from Carl's face, to the couch, to his desk, and back again. "You're going to -"

Carl ran his fingers through Finn's hair, prompting another sigh. "You know what you need... Finn." He put a gentle kiss on his temple. "Let me handle this."

His eyes closed as Carl's lips touched his face, and, after a brief pause, nodded silently. Carl stood, taking his hands again, and drew him to his feet. He steeled himself as he put his hands on the button of Finn's pants, but Finn accepted him taking them down without comment.

"Do you want me to..." Finn gestured at the desk, but Carl shook his head.

"Here," he said. "Over my knee. Let me help you."

Finn knelt clumsily, his bare legs over Carl's, positioning his torso on the couch. "This is more awkward than I thought it would be," he said quietly. "I mean, from the other... the other side, sir."

"It's not awkward, my boy," he assured him, stroking a hand under the tail of his blazer. "It's just right. You're doing fine. Just relax."

"Yes, sir," he mumbled, letting the couch take his weight. Carl was only mildly distracted by Finn's half-hard erection pressed to his thigh. He was going to take care of his boy.

It wasn't a teaching moment anymore. Tess had been right - it was _different,_ from the moment his hand touched Finn's flesh. This was something he was doing because he cared, and Finn needed it. Because he wanted to help Finn be the good boy Carl knew he was.

He made circles on the space above Finn's bare bottom. "You have something you want to give up, Finn?"

"Yes, sir." He shifted slightly under Carl's touch.

"Well, go ahead. Name it. Whatever it is you're wanting."

He watched Finn's thoughtful face as he gave the question his full attention, and marveled anew at his boy's willingness to accept his lead. Finn trusted him. After a moment, he spoke.

"I want to feel _happy_ that Puck's home, not be so scared that he's going to leave again. And I don't want to feel so confused about wanting... this. From you. Or other things." He turned his head to meet Carl's eye. He looked so calm, now, even before the spanking had begun. Carl ran his hand up Finn's back, under his shirt, and Finn breathed into the touch. "God. Uh. I want... that's a little distracting, sir."

"It's all part of it, Finn. Don't worry."

Finn gave one nudge forward with his hips, as far as he could really move, wedged in under Carl's arm, and let out a tiny, frustrated moan. "I'm trying to be - to be appropriate."

"How about you let me tell you if you're doing something inappropriate?" He put a little pressure on the small of his back, and felt Finn respond, gasping. "You're not my client anymore. We've acknowledged we have - certain feelings for one another."

"Sir," Finn said, hesitating. "That... is that real, too? I mean, I'm not the only one...?"

"Finn," Carl said, smiling. "I'm going to take care of this now, and I want you to let it go. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." He still sounded uncertain, but it was much better now, and his back bowed as he lay his head on the couch. He took a deep breath. "I'll try."

He nodded, satisfied. "That's my good boy."

"Yours," Finn whispered. "Yes, _please, _sir."

"Mine," Carl growled back, and his hand came down. It landed on Finn's pale backside with a sharp slap. Finn's body jerked forward, but the sound that came out of his mouth was a needy whine. "You're mine, boy." A matching slap on the other side and this time Finn twisted, with another mewl that made Carl's heartbeat surge in his chest. He gazed down at the two bright pink handprints standing out on the white skin, and from that point on, he didn't hesitate.

It was the finest, most delicate canvas he'd ever seen, and the music of the sounds that Finn was making - his hand came down harder, leaving a beautiful cherry wine stain on _his boy_'_s _bottom that drew an exclamation from Finn. He smacked his hand down beneath that just a fraction, letting the strokes overlap, and his palm and fingers tingled, transmitting the current of that live wire sparkling up his arm and into his body.

Carl wanted to shiver, with that sensation fizzing inside of him, but it was somehow the easiest thing in the world to repress that, and gently guide Finn back into proper position, murmuring the corrections, noting how Finn sweetly strained to obey, whimpering with the effort. The subtle praises, the warmly approving tone: it all fell from his lips like sweet honey. Finn's cries crept up the scale into upper registers that had Carl repressing shudders all over again. But he simply focused in on his task, bringing the stinging spanks down over and over again, and repeated his rhythm and pattern on the buttock closer to himself, making Finn twist to lean into him.

"Finn Christopher." His voice was pitched low and deep. Finn stiffened, tracking him with one eye.

"Sir." The word was nothing more than a gasp.

"Are you letting go, Finn?"

"Sir, I-"

"Hanging onto this is not an option," he told his boy firmly, bringing the hardest smacks down yet.

Finn's neck bent low, and he gritted his teeth under Carl's ministrations. "I - I can't!"

Carl's right hand, which had been resting lightly on Finn's back, pressed down, wedging Finn more snugly against his leg and provoking a groan.

"Sir- please!"

"I've got you, Finn, I'm right here. We're not done yet, young man." With that he brought a rapid set of six down each blazing cheek, watching Finn kick a little, despite himself.

"Who is in charge, Finn?" he asked quietly.

Finn took a few gulping breaths, trying to speak, but failed several times before managing a hoarse whisper.

"You are, sir," Finn said, twisting a little to look at him. "You're in charge - in charge of - of _me_." His eyes were reddened with tears, but wide and trusting, and hopeful in a way that made Carl's heart wrench.

"That's right, Finn. You will let go, _right now. _Do you understand me?" His thumb was stroking along the heated surface of Finn's backside, which made Finn tremble a little harder with each stroke.

"Yes - yes sir-"

"There's my good boy," Carl said softly, hearing his own voice come out thick with emotion. It was true, this was for Finn, giving him what he needed, but there was no doubt it was exactly what he'd needed, too. With each impact of his hand on Finn's flesh, he could feel them both opening up, a little at a time, giving in to the connection they'd been denying for weeks.

"Go on," he urged. "Don't be afraid. It's real, Finn, and there's nothing to be scared of. Just let me have it. All of it."

And finally, _finally,_ he heard the sound he'd been waiting for - the sound of wrenching sobs, the kind that came from the bottom of someone's gut, straining to come out. Sobs that weren't satisfied with a person's voice alone, but deepened by the feeling of being held fast over someone's knee - oh, Carl _knew._

Very gently he lifted Finn into his arms, brushing his boy's heated behind with a practiced hand as he did so, letting the shudders touch him more then just physically. The very sensation of placing Finn there settled into his gut, filling him with satisfaction, rich and complete.

"Thank you, sir," Finn whispered brokenly, once his sobs had subsided. His arms had crept under Carl's, wrapping around his ribs, and Carl felt the warmth of his body like a tiny, glowing star beneath him. He kissed his cheek, then, and Finn turned his face toward him.

"Such a sweet boy," Carl murmured, with pride and love. "My boy... my Finn. There's my good boy."

"Oh," said Finn, very quietly, bewildered and breathless. "God."

He brought his lips down to press against Finn's, firm and definitely not chaste, but patient, and waited for Finn to offer more before he let himself respond. He heard Finn's low moan inside his own body, and wrapped one hand around his neck to deepen the kiss.

After a moment, he pulled away, keeping their faces close, their foreheads touching. "You needed this."

"Yes, sir." A quick nod, a hitch in his breath.

"You trust me," he said, feeling the words land on Finn's cheek, just in front of his ear.

"Yes," Finn whispered, "yes, of course, sir."

"And you know _I want this._"

"You - god." He shuddered once, then opened his eyes to look directly at Carl. "You really do?"

It was almost an absurd question, considering the way the heat of Carl's own desire was currently pressing against Finn's raw flesh through the thin fabric of his pants. But it was okay. He wanted Finn to feel that, to know it was true. "I really do. And you're going to let me set the pace, to give you what you need, and make the right decisions about the rest. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." Finn was nearly relaxed against him, head resting on Carl's shoulder, but he stiffened again as Carl drew a hand from Finn's knee along his thigh. "Oh... "

"This, what we're doing, Finn," he said, watching Finn's face contort with desire; "this is how it is, between men like us. We need it, just as we need air to breathe and food to eat. You're my boy, but you're also a young man. And there's no shame in wanting - this." He brought his heated palm up to brush against Finn's erection, and Finn gasped, thrusting against him. "All of it."

He held Finn's eyes, not letting him look away. "Please," Finn whimpered.

Carl drank in the word, the plea, feeling Finn's need fill him with certainty. "Shhh," he soothed, and wrapped his hand around Finn's cock with firm, steady pressure. Finn cried out, but Carl held him fast, just as he had over his knee moments ago. "You're all right. You're mine, and I'm going to take care of you."

It didn't take long, of course. It hadn't been so long ago that Carl couldn't remember being a hair-triggered teenager, just like this. Fewer than a dozen strokes, and Finn's hips came up, bucking uncontrollably into his grip, shouting wordlessly. He had a moment of white-hot desire, watching Finn coming in his arms like this, but he hung on to his self-control and let Finn ride it out, until he collapsed back into Carl's lap, boneless and panting.

"Oh my god," he repeated, "oh my god, oh."

Eloquence was never Carl's strong suit after orgasm, either, so he didn't tease him for his limited vocabulary. He kissed his cheek, his temple, his hair, his lips, murmuring, "That's it. Just like that. That's my boy."

"It's really okay?" Finn opened wet eyes to Carl. "It's okay for me to - to need you, this much? You really want that?"

It was like Finn was asking him _Are you sure you want to eat that chocolate brownie? _But he knew the vulnerability that existed after this kind of exchange, and he didn't want him feeling any more self-conscious than he already was. So he just nodded solemnly and pulled him close into a warm embrace. "You can count on it. I'm not going anywhere."

"Thank you," he choked. "You have no idea how much - how much I've wanted you."

"That's perfectly all right." He stroked Finn's back in circles. "And Finn, I need you to remember: you have a word, to stop things, to say no."

Finn laughed in relief, just as he'd thought he might. Carl smiled against the crook of his neck, and held him a little tighter. "I don't think I'll be saying a lot of that," Finn admitted.

That wasn't a surprise, either. "As long as you know you can."

Finn's hand, clasped around Carl's back, came up between them to rest on his chest. "What about you?" he asked shyly. "Is there anything you... I mean, can I...?"

Carl gazed into his sweet face, so open now, so perfectly giving. He knew what it was like to be in this state, to want so much to give back, but he also knew it was hard to have perspective when under the thrall of submission. "Not this time, Finn. Here's what's going to happen. You're going to stay here with me for a little while, just like this. Then you'll drink some water and get cleaned up, and say good night, and go home to your boys."

Finn looked at him and nodded, entirely willing to let him decide, and Carl smiled in approval. "Can I see you tomorrow?" Finn asked.

_Tomorrow._ "Yes. Perhaps you'd come to my house for lunch?" If his self-control had held this far, with a half-naked Finn in his lap, he figured it wouldn't be impossible to resist him in his own kitchen. Finn's face lit up at the suggestion, and he laughed. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Yes, sir," Finn said, with deep devotion. "I'd love to."


	42. Chapter 42

_(Author's note: I hope you didn't think I was giving up on this story! I have mostly been writing other things these days, including Finn and... um, somebody... for Fingers of Your Fire. There are two more chapters left, and then on to FOYF. These boys, they kill me! Enjoy. -amy)_

* * *

><p>"Is this how it was at school?" Puck whispered, staring back at the other patrons of Pat's as they looked, wide-eyed, at Kurt and Puck holding hands. He'd expected something like this, but he felt like he might as well be an animal in the zoo.<p>

"Worse, in some ways," Kurt murmured back. "But yes. I was really hoping we'd be yesterday's news by now."

"Nothing happens in Lima," Puck shrugged, running his fingers over Kurt's knuckles. "People have to talk about something."

Kurt nodded, and averted his eyes from the two young children at the table across the aisle. One of them giggled, and their mother shushed them. Kurt looked like he wanted to shoot her a dirty look, but he didn't. He was better behaved than Puck, who just gave them a dangerous glare. It was meant to scare them away, but it only served to make the kids giggle more. He wasn't sure if he should feel offended or glad.

"I'm sorry I didn't ask you before I outed you," Kurt said, sounding pained. "I mean, you said you wanted to, but it was your call to make."

Puck shrugged and popped another peanut donut hole into his mouth. "I wasn't here," he said, after he'd chewed and swallowed it. "You had to do what you needed, for yourself, right? You didn't even know if I'd be coming home."

Kurt shook his head, renewing his grip on Puck's hand. "No. I didn't. And Finn wasn't in any position to say no, but... even if he had, I think I would have done it. I'm sick of hiding, Noah. It's not who I am."

"It's not who I am either, baby." He grinned at Kurt. "I've never been ashamed of wanting things, and I'm not going to start now, just because people don't get it. Fuck them."

"_Noah,"_ Kurt huffed, with a meaningful glance at the children.

"Aw, whatever - they've heard it before," he shrugged, and grinned at them across the aisle. They nodded solemnly in agreement. "See?" He leaned across conspiratorially and stage-whispered behind his hand, for all to hear, "We're gay, too."

"I told you," the girl said to the boy, kicking him under the table. Now the mother did glare back at Puck, who just smirked. Kurt looked like he wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or swat him. _Probably both. _

"And now it's time for us to _leave,"_ said Kurt, hauling Puck out of the booth by his hand. "Come on. Stop corrupting the nation's youth, just for one moment, okay?"

Puck gave the kids a little wave, and they grinned and waved back as he half-followed, was half-towed out of Pat's into the parking lot to Kurt's waiting Navigator. The snow had largely melted the day before, but it was starting to get icy again, and the slick soles of Kurt's shoes skidded on the ice. He took a dive toward the blacktop, and only Puck's sudden grab kept him from destroying the knees of his far-too-expensive pants on the pavement.

"You okay, baby?" Puck said, supporting him as Kurt caught his balance.

The collective mob of kids walking into Pat's, passing them just then, seemed to take this as a personal affront. "Gross," one of the boys muttered, and the other one snickered.

Puck turned his apparently ineffective glare on the whole lot of them, in an attempt to stand up for his boyfriend - but Kurt just put one hand on his shoulder and the other on his neck, and pinned him against the side of the Navigator for a mind-numbing kiss.

Nobody said one word. Kurt kept his eyes on Puck as they pulled bare inches apart; Puck could feel Kurt's warm breath on his skin.

"What happened to not corrupting the nation's youth?" he asked.

"There have to be _some_ advantages to being out," Kurt whispered, tugging him back down for more.

Puck was only too happy to oblige.

* * *

><p>"Uh... Kurt?" Puck said, leaning forward as they pulled into the garage and pointing through the front window. "Is that Finn, in the family room? What the hell?"<p>

"Oh, dear." Kurt exchanged an uneasy glance with Puck. "That really doesn't bode well. I didn't expect to see him for several more hours, yet. Do you think they -?"

Puck shrugged. "I guess we'll have to go in and find out. But I really thought Carl - I mean, seriously, Kurt, when we talked at the apartment, he sounded like he was really into Finn..." He trailed off into silence, and they climbed out of the Navigator and walked slowly into the house.

They encountered his dad in the dining room, stacking dishes on the counter from dinner.

"Is Finn okay?" Puck asked, and Burt looked up, startled.

"See for yourself," he said, gesturing at the living room. "He's talking to Carole. I figured I'd better stay out of this one."

"Oh, god," Kurt said, the anxiety building, and he hurried past his dad to find Finn sprawled on the couch, his head leaning back, eyes closed. He gazed at Carole with increasing horror. "Did he - are you -?"

He watched as Carole looked from Puck to Kurt and then back to Finn. She bit her lip. "I think he's... fine."

"I am," Finn said, waving one hand, not even opening his eyes. "I'm fine."

Kurt and Puck flanked him on the couch, each one taking their place beside him, getting as close as they could. Kurt put a hand on his chest, and Puck gripped his shoulder. "What happened?" he asked softly, then flickered a glance at Carole. "I mean, whatever you want to tell... us."

"I told Mom everything already," Finn said. He sounded exhausted.

"You - ?" Kurt looked at Carole, and blinked, feeling his own face turn red. "... Everything?" he whispered.

Carole's mouth looked like it might smile, but she managed to keep it solemn. "Everything," she echoed. "It's really fine, Kurt."

"Dude." Puck looked like someone had handed him a slice of dark chocolate cheesecake. He grinned widely at Carole. "I already knew you were the coolest mom ever, but this kind of puts you over the top. You're okay with - uh, everything?"

"God, you're not going to make me sit through _more_ stories about _my mom_ when she was a kinky teenager, are you?" Finn groaned, covering his eyes.

Carole and Puck both stifled laughter, but Kurt just felt his blush intensify. _I don't think I can handle hearing those... not when you're sleeping with my dad. Please._

"So - does that mean everything went okay tonight?" Puck pressed. His voice dropped. "Did you, uh, get what you needed?"

They both watched Finn's face anxiously while he opened his eyes. They were a little red, but dry, and his gaze took a long time to focus. He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Then his lips spread in the most spectacular smile Kurt had ever seen on his face. It made Kurt feel a little faint to behold it.

"Yeah," he said, his voice thick and rich. "I did."

Kurt let his head fall forward onto Finn's chest and sighed noisily. "God, Finn, I thought something had gone _wrong! _ But why are you home so early if... if..." He paused and bit his lip, uncertain how to put the question. He needn't have worried.

"You guys got done quick, huh?" Puck grinned. Kurt spluttered at his audacity, but Finn just grinned lazily.

"Something like that," he said. He wasn't even pink.

_Who are you and what have you done with my Finn?_ Kurt wanted to say, but he didn't; he just let himself relax into Finn's body, feeling his calm, the peace inside him, the joy radiating out over top of that. It was clear now that Finn _had_ gotten what he'd needed, in more than one way. Kurt couldn't be anything but happy about that.

"Well, now that these guys are here," Carole said, lifting herself to a standing position, "I think your old mom's going to head home." She reached out, and Finn took her hand.

"Thanks, Mom," Finn said, with a grateful expression. "For listening, and not judging me."

Her eyes twinkled at him. "That's my job, honey. I'll see you guys tomorrow."

They smiled at each other. Puck watched them, clearly pleased as anything to see the love between the two of them. Kurt knew Puck needed that, needed to see the way things were _supposed_ to be between parents and their children, for him to feel successful as a father himself, someday. _The more happy, successful relationships he has in his life, the better._

She departed amid a chorus of _good nights_, and Kurt looked away as she stopped by the dining room table to kiss his dad. Apparently he was going to have a hard time shedding the visuals that accompanied the phrase _kinky teenager_ as it applied to Carole_._

"All right, Hudson," Puck said, poking him in the ribs. "Come on. Give us all the gory details, and I mean all of them."

Finn's eyes fell closed again, briefly, and he shivered against Kurt's side. "I... we talked about how things were going, with us - you and me, Puck, and the three of us, and me and Kurt, and... what I needed from Carl." Hearing Finn say the word _Carl,_ so tenderly, made Kurt smile to himself, but he tried to remain quiet and attentive.

Finn went on. "It's kind of funny. I love everything we do, Kurt, and... and what we do, Puck, I mean, it's been really, really hot, and I missed you so much." He smiled at Puck's touch on the back of his hair. "And even having all those things, I realized that I really... need... Carl."

"I get that," Puck said softly. "It's not like you don't appreciate what you have. But sometimes, you want something, or someone, and they're the only one who'll fill up that space inside you." Then Puck seemed to hear _exactly_ how that sounded, and he buried his face in Finn's shoulder as they both cracked up. "Dude. You know what I mean."

"Uh, _yeah,_ I know what you _mean,_ and it's exactly _like_ that," Finn snickered, with a little poke to his shoulder for each emphasized word. Kurt sighed, waiting for his twelve-year-old boys to turn back into sixteen-year-old young men. Eventually they subsided.

"So... did he?" Puck asked eagerly.

"Did he what?"

Puck made a filthy gesture. "Fill up that space?"

"Noah,"said Kurt, rolling his eyes.

Finn shook his head. "We're... still going slowly. He's setting the pace. I mean, we talked about it, and he's going to take care of it." He took another long, deep breath. "I think I can handle it, the waiting, as long as I know he's... that we're... that he, you know..."

"Just _say _it, Finn," Kurt snapped. Seeing Finn act like a stupid fluttery teenager was almost more than he could bear.

Finn pressed his lips together and nodded. "He wants me," he said. "And I'm his boy. And he... god, I think he actually loves me." He ran both hands over his face and groaned. "That's kind of the most amazing thing of all."

"Well, jeez, I could have told you _that,"_ Puck said, scoffing. "He's completely fucking crazy about you. But, come on, you guys didn't do _anything?_ I thought you said you got what you needed?"

"Noah," Kurt said again, aggravated. "Give him some space. Maybe he doesn't want to share everything."

Finn looked back and forth between the two of them. He bit his lip. "It's not that I don't _want_ to. I just don't want you guys to feel... like, would that be weird? Me, talking about...?"

"_No,"_ Puck said flatly. "Not weird. _Hot._ Fuck, Hudson, it's like you never talked about what you did with girls with me? All the time? Don't you _remember?_ It was the best I could get, if you weren't going to be with me. But this, you, with Carl? If you're not going to let me watch, at least tell me the details so I can get off on the story of it." He beckoned. "Bring it."

Finn's face was flushed, but he was laughing. He looked over at Kurt uncertainly. "You... want to hear it, Kurt?"

Kurt hesitated only a moment, glancing at the empty dining room behind them, and put a hand on Finn's knee, sliding it up toward his inner thigh. "You remember how I used to ask you to tell me fantasies about Noah?"

Puck made a surprised whimpering sound, and Finn's smile was grateful. "Of course I remember."

"Well, I don't see how this is really any different." He took a courageous breath. "Tell us what happened... please?"

Finn nodded, caught between the two of them. Puck's own hand was slipping between the buttons of Finn's shirt, stroking across his stomach, and Kurt continued his progress along the seam of Finn's pants. He really did look good in that blazer.

"He... took me over his knee," Finn said, keeping his voice low. They both let out nearly identical moans in response, and he closed his eyes, letting his jaw go slack. "He used... his hand on me, to... uh, to spank me. Not the first time, or anything, but... it was different, with just his hand. And different... because of how I feel. How we feel. You know."

"We both know, Finn," Kurt said hoarsely. "You know we do."

"Yeah. I said I wanted to give up how uncertain I was feeling, and being scared about wanting him, needing him. And he spanked me, and I cr-cried, and it was... god, it was exactly what I'd been needing, for a long time, and... it was really hot."

Kurt could definitely feel just how hot Finn thought it had been. He squirmed a little, himself, feeling the tightness of his own jeans. "I'm so glad."

"You're trying to tell me you guys didn't do _anything_ after that?" Puck demanded. "Hell, that one time he spanked me in the office, I practically tried to maul him before he told me no. And I'm not even in love with him."

Finn's eyes were round as Puck's recollection of this incident sank in. He gulped and turned his head toward Puck's, right beside his own, close enough to kiss him if he leaned in a little. "You never told me about that."

"We weren't really saying much to each other at that point," Puck said, with a dismissive gesture. "Another time, man. Focus."

Kurt gave him a little pressure on the crotch of his pants, and even though they weren't constricting at all, he felt the heat and tightness in Finn's shorts. Finn sucked in a breath. "Okay... uh, yeah, we did... something. He touched me... put his hand on me -"

"More specific words, Finn," Kurt encouraged, rubbing a little more firmly. Finn bucked up against his hand with a gasp.

"He jacked me off," he whispered. "Right there in his office. But he didn't let me do anything to him. Not yet. I don't know if we're going to... any time soon, but... I'm going over to his h-house. For lunch tomorrow."

"Lunch, huh?" Puck said, almost purring. He had Finn's shirt unbuttoned halfway now, and Finn gave a jerk and a whimper as he squeezed a nipple. "What are you going to do to him then, huh, Hudson? You gonna get down on your knees in front of him?"

"Oh my god," Finn groaned. "Puck... _here,_ in the living room?"

"Totally hot," Puck agreed, moving to the other nipple. "But yeah, okay, how about we relocate? I think we'd all have more fun in Kurt's room."

Kurt thanked all the gods, real or imaginary, that they didn't run into Sarah or his dad on the way downstairs to his bedroom. As rationally as he could, he considered this Puck who was pushing Finn's boundaries and buttons, and what he might need. Finn stumbled ahead of them, prodded by Puck, and Kurt closed the door behind them.

"Naked, on the bed, _now,"_ Kurt snapped out to Puck, who smiled as he stripped. Kurt could barely keep his hands to himself long enough to wait for the last piece of clothing to hit the floor, and Puck was already hard and on his knees, waiting restlessly, when Kurt followed him shortly thereafter. He placed one hand on Puck's backside, and Puck made a grateful noise and rested his head on Kurt's pillow.

"Are you guys - " Finn swallowed, still mostly dressed, though the blazer had come off and he was rubbing himself through his pants. He watched them with a hungry expression. "Kurt, are you going to... ?"

"You and Carl inspired me," Kurt said, making circles on Puck's bare bottom, and tried to calm his own breathing. "And Noah needs it. I do hope it doesn't bother you, Finn, but I honestly think I'm a little beyond caring right now."

"God, Kurt," Puck said, bucking up into his hand. "Come _on."_

Kurt slapped him, sharply, once, and both Finn and Puck let out nearly identical cries. _Okay, yeah, this is a little weird,_ Kurt thought, but there was no way he was going to stop.

"Would you join me here, Finn?" he said, holding out a hand. Finn made short work of his shirt and dropped his pants onto the floor - Kurt was hard pressed not to tell him to pick them up and at least _fold_ them over the chair, but all right, it wasn't a big deal - followed by his shorts, and crawled up on the bed beside him. Kurt could feel the pressure of Finn's arousal as he knelt behind him on the narrow mattress.

"What... do you want?" Finn said. The sound of his voice in his ear made Kurt shake, because this was _Finn,_ and Finn wasn't supposed to ask _him_ what he wanted - and yet, it was okay, it was just fine. He could do this.

He leaned back against Finn's chest briefly, and put both hands on Puck's back, stroking up and down his spine. "I want you to count, for me."

Puck made a low noise in the back of his throat, and Kurt felt Finn nudge against him with a strangled groan. "God. How many?"

"Oh, I don't know..." Kurt trailed fingers between Puck's legs, into the space between the cheeks of his ass, and listened to Finn's breathing speed up. He felt the stress inside himself, the bitterness and fear he'd been holding on to, and decided it was time to deal with it. "He's usually such a good boy... but he was gone for a long time. Nine days is a long, _long_ time to be away from the people who love you, isn't it? When they don't know if you're coming back, or where you are, or if you're safe or _anything?_ I think... triple that, for the three of us. How does that sound, Noah? Is that fair?"

"I - Kurt," Puck whined. "I told you I was sorry for that. You can't _still _be -"

"I need you to know it was thoughtless and selfish," Kurt replied severely, "and you should _never_ do that again." He laid a heavy swat on his behind. Puck jumped, then was still, breathing hard. Kurt leaned in to his ear. "I need you. Finn needs you. You're part of this family, and when you left, it hurt us. You're going to be a _father,_ Noah, and she's going to need you, too. I won't have you leaving us again, for _any_ reason. Do you understand me?"

"Y-yes," he said, his voice low. Kurt's hand came down again, harder, and Puck cried out again. Kurt felt Finn's intense response behind him, more emotional than physical. _He wants to do this for Noah, too,_ Kurt realized. For a moment he wondered if he should stop, if it was going to be too much for Finn to handle, but in the end, he figured that was Finn's decision.

"What was that?" Kurt said evenly.

"Yessir," Puck responded, more quickly this time. Kurt put pressure in the center of his back, letting Puck feel the import of his words, and Kurt felt his body give a little more.

"Better. Twenty-seven, and we won't discuss this again. Understood?

"Yes, sir," Puck said again. He still sounded somewhat sullen, but Kurt knew it often took a lot to drag Noah, kicking and screaming, out of his own fear and anxiety. The acquiescence would come later, after he'd broken down and let himself cry and rage. _Adam could probably do that for him, but he's not here. It's up to me, right now, to take care of him. _ It was a little intimidating, but Kurt had never backed down from a challenge before, and he certainly wasn't going to now. _Not when it matters. Not when it's Noah._

Finn gave a shuddering breath and put his hands on Kurt's shoulders. Kurt felt a strange sense of separation from the two of them, being the only one wearing clothing. It gave him a charge, but he almost wished he'd taken off his shirt to begin with, because Finn seemed like he might need some contact right about now.

"Here, on the bed?" Finn said in an undertone. "Or on your lap?"

Kurt smiled over his shoulder at him, because no matter who was Topping whom, here, Finn clearly wasn't going to stand back and let someone else do all the work. "What do you think would be better?"

Finn hesitated, chewing on his lip, for long enough of a time that Kurt touched his hand and said, gently, "Would you rather we just not do this?"

"No," Finn said immediately, just as Puck gave a sigh and leaned into Kurt a little more. "No. This is... good. I need this, too." Finn's hand moved slowly down Kurt's arm, along his wrist, and just brushed against the skin of Puck's hip.

Kurt wanted to cheer, and he wanted to grab Finn's hand and place it on Puck's behind, and he wanted to cry. But he didn't do any of those things. He simply focused his attention on what he was there to do, and landed three slaps, one right after the other, on the flesh of Puck's bottom, waiting for Finn's accompaniment.

"One," said Finn steadily. "Two... three."

Finn's arms around Kurt felt like the best kind of support - and Puck's upturned back, there on the bed before him, under his hand, gave him something he could barely explain to himself, much less describe. He wasn't sure when this had become so serious, but it was. _This _is _serious. The way we are, it's serious. No two ways about it. _He felt tears prickling around his eyes, and laid down the next three swats right on top of the spot where the first three had landed.

"Four," counted Finn. "Five. Six. … God, Kurt."

Kurt knew exactly what he meant. _How can this be about discipline, and be so freaking hot at the same time? _ But of course, it was, and it always had been, between Puck and himself, just as he suspected it had been between Finn and Puck. Just as he knew it was between Finn and Carl.

"Seven... eight... nine... ten..."

He tried to keep each impact focused on one single spot, knowing his strength was not in his arm, but in his ability to help Puck feel safe enough to let it all go. He could feel the conflict warring inside Puck, hear it in the noises he was making, the way he was flinching away: the stubbornness and hurt and all the temptations he feared he couldn't resist.

"Let me have it, sweetheart," he said softly. "Give it up, now. It's all right."

Kurt had wondered, in the past, if he might experience stage fright when he finally came around to doing this for Puck in front of Finn. But he didn't. He felt clear and focused and in control - or as much in control as he ever did around Finn. And he could sense Finn's own reaction as clearly as he could feel Puck's. _Is this Finn the one in charge? Or is this Finn the one who needs to submit? _He supposed it might be both, and he understood that. It was comforting, somehow, to know that they had that in common now.

Finn's counting was getting a little ragged, but he wasn't stopping, any more than Kurt was stopping the slaps that landed on the skin of Puck's red, raised behind. And Puck was starting to complain and twist away, which was good progress, but also posed a challenge for Kurt: he didn't have any kind of hold on Puck, crouching on the bed.

"Finn," he said, not pausing in his strokes, "would you get down in front of Noah and keep him calm for me, please?"

Finn seemed to know exactly what he meant, and, after a brief squeeze to Kurt's shoulders, he climbed down to kneel on the floor beside the bed, his face parallel with Puck's. Puck averted his eyes, but Finn reached forward and grabbed his wrists, not letting him turn away.

"Hey. It's okay. We're both here, right? Just like you were here for me, the other night. I got what I needed. Let Kurt give you what you need."

Puck let out a desperate moan and tried to wrench away, but Finn hung on while Kurt continued to deliver each swat. He could hear Finn counting under his breath: "... eighteen, nineteen. Twenty. That's it... twenty-one..."

"I'm sorry," Puck cried out suddenly, and Kurt felt the tension give, felt him begin to shake under his hand. "I'm - fuck, Finn, I'm _sorry,_ please..."

"Yeah," said Finn roughly, taking his face in his hands. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, too."

It was all Kurt could do to keep going, watching them staring desperately into each other's eyes, searching for that absolution, but he knew Puck needed him to follow through. _I've had enough with Noah not getting what he needs._ He picked up the counting: "Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six..."

The last impact drove Puck forward, and as his arms gave out, he collided with Finn. And then they were kissing, their desperation just as fierce and hungry as any he'd seen between them. Kurt's own fear surged up, and he considered slipping away to leave the two of them together - _because they clearly don't need me,_ the voice inside him said snidely - but he waited it out, trying not to listen to the voice, and eventually it shut up.

"God," Puck gasped, fumbling for Finn. "God - Kurt, that was..." He palmed tears off his cheeks and sniffed. "How did you know I needed that?"

Kurt had no answer for that, so he just helped haul Puck upright on the bed. Finn followed, unwilling to be even inches away from him. They surrounded him, Puck in the center, their hands and arms and bodies holding him up. Then Puck turned to Kurt, and the expression on his face about broke Kurt's heart. Puck wrapped his arms around him, and they both cried a little as Finn stroked their backs.

"That was incredible," Finn murmured, and leaned in to kiss Puck's neck. "I didn't realize you needed it, either, but - you did. And Kurt, you did, too." He directed a breathless smile across Puck's shoulder at Kurt. "You're in charge, here."

"Only when I have to be," he replied. His arms were full of Puck, surrounding him. He wondered if Puck would be embarrassed if he pulled him into his lap, right there in front of Finn, on whose lap he'd often sat. Eventually he decided it would be better not to risk killing the mood. "I did need it. I was hurting, and I didn't even realize it until we were walking down the stairs to the bedroom."

"I'm glad you listened to yourself, baby." Finn's lips moved to the other side of Puck's neck, and up to his ear. "But I think maybe it's our turn to take care of you, now."

Kurt felt the confident steel interior he'd maintained for the past fifteen minutes turn to pudding. "I -" he said, but then Puck shifted against him as Finn's kisses grew more insistent, and he felt his cock, hard and ready. He closed his eyes, shuddering. The image that emblazoned itself on the screen of his mind was very clear and very compelling. "Please."

Finn smiled again. "I know what you want."

"Please," Kurt repeated, and he cried out as Puck's hand found its way between his legs, not teasing, just gripping him hard and giving him firm, precise pressure. He could have let Puck rub him to orgasm in ten seconds, if he'd wanted to, but he held off. Finn's hands helped him take off his clothes and laid them carefully on the chair by the bed, until he was naked and surrounded by the two boys he loved so entirely.

Puck was watching Finn for cues, but he wasn't waiting for him to tell him what to do. Kurt found himself pressed to the bed by Puck's body, crouching over him, much calmer now, and just as hard and insistent as Kurt was himself.

"Baby," Puck breathed, their skin brushing from neck to thigh. "God, are you the hottest thing ever."

"Just wait," Finn said from across the room. "Wait until you see him under this."

Kurt knew _exactly_ what Finn was holding. He heard Puck choke a little, and he backed off, crouching on the bed, while Finn closed in. Without even thinking about it, Kurt rolled to his knees and bared his back for Finn to touch. Finn obliged, running a hand up and down his sensitive spine.

"Hudson," Puck said, in an awed voice, "you're going to kill me, aren't you? What is - can I feel that?"

He heard Finn chuckle. "What, your ass isn't sore enough?"

"With my _hand,_ dork," Puck sighed. "But - hey, why the hell not. Come on, give it to me. Right here."

Finn clearly didn't need to be asked twice. Puck heard the _slap_ of suede tails landing on Puck's skin, and, a split second later, a purr of approval.

"Good?" Finn said, sounding smug.

"Fuck, _yeah,_" Puck affirmed. Kurt watched as he huddled down on the bed next to him, putting his face next to Kurt's, a smile on his lips. "Finn told me about this suede flogger thing. You love it, don't you?"

"Yes," Kurt whispered. Puck nodded.

"I want to watch Finn give it to you, baby," he whispered back. "I want to see you loving it."

He wanted to say okay, but then the flogger hit his back with a nearly painless, deep thud, and he just gasped out his reaction. Puck's smile grew, and his eyes lit up at Kurt's response as Finn brought the flogger down again.

"Nice..." Puck said, low and entirely too sexy. "Very nice."

Kurt was already almost beyond speech, but he didn't want to let his eyes close, because a naked, turned-on Noah, just inches from his own bare skin, was not something he would ever want to miss. Kurt's glance must have flickered down Puck's body, because he seemed to take it as permission, and, with a sigh, reached down between his legs to stroke himself.

"Puck," Finn said, and it wasn't a voice of command, it was just so full of _need. _Kurt ground his own cock into the mattress. _First I have Noah bottom-up on my bed, _he thought, through his haze of desire, _and then Finn has me. What's next? Does Noah give it to Finn? _The idea wasn't... upsetting, exactly, but it seemed a little incongruent, like the pieces didn't quite fit together right. He heard himself let out a whine.

That seemed to get Finn to focus. He took a steadying breath, and resumed the rhythmic blows along Kurt's back and rear end, back and forth, following a lazy figure-eight pattern. Kurt felt his skin become warm, then tingly, then pleasantly numb as his body began to relax. His breathing deepened, and he let himself zone out on one beautiful aspect of Puck at a time: his shoulder, his pierced nipple, his stroking fist.

"That's my baby," Finn said, his voice approving. "Puck, isn't he gorgeous?"

"Oh, yeah," Puck agreed. Kurt heard the rhythm of his breathing change, speed up. "God, yeah."

When the blows slowed, then stopped altogether, Kurt wasn't quite sure what was happening. He felt himself floating on the cushion of sensation. He loved the way the impact of the tails of the flogger made it easier to handle all the myriad inputs of sight and sound and touch in his world. It made all of them more pleasant, more harmonious, like everything fit together. _We fit,_ he thought.

"We really do," Finn agreed, and Kurt realized he'd spoken aloud. "Is that what you want, baby?"

Finn was right there, kneeling over him. Kurt knew all he had to do was nod, to spread his legs a tiny bit, and Finn would take care of the rest. But he made himself uncurl from his ball, to stretch his limbs, and rolled over onto his back, gazing up at Finn, at Puck next to him.

"I want you both," he said, in as loud a voice as he could manage. It came out as only breath, but they both seemed to understand, and they exchanged heated smiles. "Help me... help me put the pillow under my hips."

Kurt had done this enough times now to have learned that the angle was better when there was a little support underneath. Finn lifted his body as though he weighed nothing, and wedged the pillow Puck passed him under his hips, canting them up and forward. Finn only hesitated a moment before saying, "Puck - you, in front of me, kneeling over Kurt."

Puck moved without question into position, giving Kurt an anxious look even as he stroked himself a little faster, inches away from Kurt's chin. "You want this, baby?"

Kurt couldn't say _I don't know, I never wanted it before, but I don't think there's anything I wouldn't do if Finn told me to._ He couldn't even say _This is just about the hottest thing I've ever seen, you, up close, right above me. _He just nodded, and let his legs open up to Finn's moist, probing fingers, and his mouth to Puck's straining cock. His whole body felt receptive, a vessel waiting to be filled, and everything was one great big _yes._

He could see, behind Puck's body, the form of Finn, leaning over them, stroking his big hands over Puck's back, down his hips and along the reddened skin of his behind. He could hear the insistent noises of Puck's desire as it built toward climax, and Finn's own escalating breathing and occasional groans. "God, Kurt, you feel so good," he heard, and in the midst of his blissful sensation, he had no idea who had said it. _Did it matter?_

It was the expression on Finn's face over Puck's shoulder that did him in, in he end, as he reached down with one long arm to stroke Kurt. It was full of desire, yes, and that need he'd seen earlier, but Kurt also saw the love that he'd been so scared of losing. _Finn still loves me, like that. He loves us both. _

As he gave himself up to the orgasm that engulfed his body, Kurt felt the tears squeezed from his eyes. He closed them tight, holding that image in his head. He thought he could handle it all, could handle anything, as long as he could retain that memory of Finn and Puck, loving him together.

* * *

><p>Kurt woke in the night with one arm and one leg sticking out from beneath the duvet, and when he tried to pull it over himself more securely, he heard a faint noise of protest from the other end of the bed. <em>I really need a bigger bed if the three of us are going to keep doing this,<em> he thought, nestling in closer to Puck instead. _Or at least a bigger blanket._

But then he realized he was hearing another noise, and he turned in bed - as best as he could without falling out - to find Puck next to him, still apparently fast asleep, tears running down his face.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, and slipped one hand around Puck, gathering him in to lie on top of him. Puck shuddered in his sleep and wrapped his arms around Kurt, clinging like a baby chimpanzee. They lay like that for some time, Kurt anxiously stroking his back and making comforting sounds against the soft skin of his neck.

Eventually Puck's eyes opened, and he met Kurt's gaze, blinking until he gained focus. "Hey," Puck said softly.

"You had a bad dream," Kurt replied, equally softly. Finn wasn't likely to wake up even if they spoke in normal tones, but there was something about the situation that seemed delicate, and Kurt didn't want to disturb it.

"Um." Puck wiped his eyes on the side of his hand. "Not. Not a bad dream."

"Oh..." Kurt considered this. "About... about Adam?"

"No. Not tonight." Puck rolled off and let his head rest on the pillow next to Kurt. "My daughter."

Kurt knew he'd had those dreams in the past, but somehow he'd thought they had resolved themselves, receded to unimportance in Puck's mind. _Apparently not._ "Do you want to tell me about it?"

"I'm not sure. It's kind of weird." Puck glanced over at Kurt, then away again, fumbling under the covers to hold his hand. "The boy... from the club. He was there too. He's... well, I dream about him a lot."

"Oh." Kurt tried not to be hurt by this. He wondered if _he_ ever appeared in Puck's dreams, but he knew now would not be the best time to bring it up. He put on a brave smile. "Good dreams, I hope?"

"Sometimes. Mostly. Yeah. Just..." He sighed. "Tess said he's not real, not if I only met him once. But he's somebody my subconscious is trying to get to know better. I don't know... there's something there I need?"

"You need... to be in charge?" Kurt guessed. Puck looked troubled, and he shrugged. Kurt put a hand on his chest. "You know I said you could do that with me, Noah. If that's what you needed."

Puck's smile was grateful, but faint. "Thanks, baby... I know you would. And I might need that, someday, but... I mostly just want you to... take care of me." The last words were whispered, and Kurt knew it cost him something to be that vulnerable, even in the stark, honest light of dawn.

"I'll always do that," Kurt promised, gathering him up again, holding Puck's firm, muscled body against himself, feeling him respond even in the midst of his anxiety. Kurt sighed in contentment and marveled anew at their connection. "There's no one like you, sweetheart."

"God, Kurt..." He heard his voice break. "You've got to know, even - even with _Adam,_ and all this stuff with my dreams, and Finn... I don't know, I just missed _you _so fucking much."

"I know," Kurt said. He did know, most of the time. Most of the time he knew that Puck loved him, just the way he loved Puck, like two halves of a whole, like mirror twins, dark and light. It was far more perfect than he'd ever expected to have from anyone, especially from a boy like Noah Puckerman. But there was no denying this, the truth about the two of them.

"I love you, Noah," he said, and held him as he descended into tears. He held him close, letting him sob out his stress and fear. "I'm here."

Kurt felt Finn stir next to him, and his eyes were worried when they opened to see Puck crying into Kurt's chest. Kurt smiled to reassure him. "It's okay," he said, for Finn as much as for Puck. Finn put a hand on Puck's back, and, after a moment to be sure he wasn't going to reject that, he shifted closer, letting his arm drape over the two of them. It felt so achingly familiar.

"What's it about?" Finn asked, his voice thick and gravelly with disuse.

"It's about... his daughter." Kurt didn't mention the boy from the club. Finn only knew about him peripherally, and he wasn't sure he was prepared to handle going over all that again, right now.

"Your daughter." Puck turned his head to face Finn, listening. "How old is she, now? Like... what's going on with her? What's she look like?"

Puck's eyebrows furrowed. "Uh... you mean in my dream?"

"No, I mean... inside Quinn. When I was... when I thought she was my baby, I would go to this web site where it would show pictures of how the fetus was growing, like, _this week she got fingernails,_ and _she has eyelids now. _Kind of creepy, but also pretty amazing."

Kurt wasn't quite sure what to do with the shiny glowing look on Finn's face, but Puck was nodding. "Yeah, I've seen those web sites. Well, I guess she's due - April 29, I think Quinn said? Just before May."

"We can look it up. What she looks like now." Finn smiled, reaching out his other hand to touch Puck's cheek. It made Kurt feel a little breathless, to watch them together, the unexpected intimacy of their interactions. _Last night had changed things. Things are different, now. _He kissed Puck's head.

"What happened in your dream?" Kurt asked.

Puck raised himself up onto his elbows, sniffing back the last of his tears. "She was just a baby in this one. Small enough that she couldn't talk, except in my dream, she _could._ She was trying to tell me all about this bird she saw, a red one, and I didn't - I guess I had something important happening, I don't remember what it was. I ignored her, told her to let me take care of my own business... But the boy from the club, he picked her up, and he gave me this look, like I was - um." He glanced away from Finn. "Like I didn't matter at all. Like I was dust. And he said, 'She just wanted to tell you she loved you.'"

"I thought you said it wasn't a bad dream," Finn said.

"Yeah, that part wasn't very good. But then he handed her to me, and I hugged her and he... uh." He shrugged and looked at his hands. "That was the good part."

Kurt looked at Finn, who was grinning. "Yes, it does sound like a good dream."

Puck gazed down at Kurt, his chin on his fists. "I know we talked about this last night, with Carl, but how do _you_ feel, hearing about another guy?"

"You mean, like, a made-up guy?" said Finn, clearly amused. "No, I know he's a real guy, but... you don't really know him or anything... and really, nothing much happened between you two."

"_Something _happened," Kurt said, and Puck nodded soberly.

Finn nodded slowly. "Well, I'm not going to worry about what your brain is trying to tell you about this guy, until... until he's standing here in Kurt's house, saying he wants to do stuff with you. Okay?"

"Okay." Puck let Kurt pull him into a spoon, with Puck in the middle, as it had been when they'd fallen asleep, and Puck reached out to coax Finn into the stack of spoons as well. After a moment, he let it happen.

"Feels good," Puck said, drifting back into sleep, holding Finn tight around his waist, and Finn's sigh sounded just about as happy as he'd used to be, since before that day with Puck in the choir room. _We're healing,_ Kurt thought drowsily, as he let his eyes close, and relaxed. _A little at a time, but it's happening. This family, we're making it work._


	43. Chapter 43

_Author's note: Well, you either get a short update or none at all, so hopefully that's not a problem. There is some Adam in this chapter, though it is brief. I hope to get to the rest of the chapter tomorrow. Enjoy Puck! -amy_

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><p>The kitchen of Carl's little apartment was small, but it was neat and didn't have a bad layout. The appliances were in good repair. The stove was gas, not electric, which was definitely a bonus, and there was a dishwasher, and one end of the counter was wooden butcher block. There was a window over the sink, with a view of... well, of the exhaust system on the roof of the building next door, but Puck thought it was kind of cool, and at the very least it let in some light.<p>

Every cupboard was arranged exactly how he wanted it. He'd brought over all his cookware and his best knives and the new appliances Burt and Carole and Finn and Kurt and Sarah had gotten him for Christmas... or belated Hanukkah, or homecoming, or out of pity or... _something._ He'd stolen the bulk of the spices from his Ma's house, and the little stereo CD player from her bedroom, and had taken half of his first allowance check from Burt - and wasn't _that _weird - to stock his fridge and cupboards with essentials and a few extravagances. No, he didn't really need a 20 year old balsamic vinegar, but it was just a little bottle, and hell if it didn't make his wilted arugula-kale salad taste fucking amazing?

Okay, so none of his silverware matched, but he could do the dishes exactly the way he wanted to, and nobody was there to give him shit about how he liked to prep everything first before mixing one thing, even down to slicing the garnish. He could cook his beef to the precisely right temperature (hardly at all) and his pasta a little past al dente, because he just preferred it that way, fuck you for saying something. He could spice his curry as hot as he liked and use the white wine _he_ liked to drink in his cooking and not justify anything to anybody.

It only took him a half hour to realize he was completely bored, and pulled out his phone, thumbing through the numbers. He paused at one, shrugged, and dialed it.

"Puck?" said a caustic, flat tone. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said, trying to sound easy. "How's your vacation going?"

Quinn sighed. "Don't bother trying to butter me up. I know what you really want. You don't care about me. You're here for the parasite."

"Not true, babe," he protested, setting another place mat. "I mean, yeah, I care about her, but... come on, Quinn, we had some good times, right? And I'm not talking about the horizontal ones."

"Whatever. I don't have a lot of patience these days. What do you want?"

He found the most-matched spoon, fork and knife and set them on the place mat. "I was making lunch, and I had a little extra, and I thought... maybe you'd like to come over."

She paused. "You... want to make me lunch?"

"Stir fry. If it's too spicy, I can make something else. I've got a nice salmon steak in the fridge."

"Um. No, spicy is actually good these days." She sounded like she might be smiling. "What about your... boyfriends?"

"Kurt's out with Sarah and Carole, shoe shopping or something. Finn's over at... um, somebody's house for lunch. So what do you think?" He checked in the fridge, completely needlessly; he had everything in there practically memorized by now. "I've got a nice dealcoholized pinot gris chilling here, and a corkscrew with your name on it. Come on."

"All right," she said, laughing. "You had me at stir fry. Where are you, anyway?"

"234 1/2 N. Main." He pulled the not-wine out of the fridge and set it on the table with satisfaction. "Next to the comic shop and the tattoo place, right there across from the courthouse. You know."

"Uh... yeah, I know. What the hell are you doing there?"

He paused. "It's a long story that I'm pretty sure I can't tell you."

"Right. I'll weasel it out of you. See you soon, Puck."

He practically ran around the apartment - a week's worth of mess was kind of a lot, when he stopped to think about it - then put the stir fry and pasta and salad into casserole dishes before setting them on the table. Then he picked up his phone again and called Finn.

"Dude, I'm sorry to interrupt," he broke in as soon as Finn picked up. "I hope you guys aren't totally in the middle of something, but something just came up."

"No, it's okay," Finn said. "We're... it's fine. And after what happened with you, I think pretty much everybody's going to pick up the phone when you call, at least for a while. Is everything all right? What is it?"

"Quinn's coming over for lunch." He filled two water glasses and set them on the table. "And I didn't say anything about Carl, but you know her, and you know _me_. She's going to figure it out."

"Dude." He heard a big sigh. "You know you can't tell her. We _talked_ about this. What, are you going to tell her about _Adam,_ too?"

"No!" he hissed. "Fuck. I never would. Plus he'd destroy my ass."

"Well... consider what Carl would do, if I - if Kurt gave him permission. That incentive enough for you?"

Puck followed that thought process to it's logical conclusion, and gulped. "Uh. Okay. Maybe. But... she's almost worse than Santana. You _know_ she is. I have to give her something, or she's going to wear me down."

"Shit, man," Finn moaned. "Do we have to talk about this _now?_" He sighed. "All right. Hang on."

There was a long pause, while Puck nervously adjusted silverware and got out ingredients for a stovetop rice pudding. Finally Finn said, "Carl says you can tell her there's an older guy. In Columbus. His name's Derek. Don't say _anything_ about the place next door. And whatever you plan to say about Adam, you'd better check with him about that too."

Puck felt his whole body relax. He blinked. "Okay. Yeah. That... that's a good idea. Tell Carl thanks."

"Yeah. Can I assume you're not going to call for the next... uh, two hours, or should I turn off my phone now?

Puck laughed. "I won't call unless it's a _real_ emergency. Have a great time. You'll give me details later, huh?"

"Maybe. And... I do trust Quinn, okay? But be careful. There's a lot of people's lives at play here." Finn's voice got soft, and Puck knew he wasn't focusing on their conversation anymore.

"I got it. Thanks, again. See you for dinner at Kurt's." Puck set himself up at the stove to stir the milk to keep it from scalding, feeling much better. _Apparently, Carl gets to Top me over the phone too, and he doesn't even have to be the one talking._ He opened his phone, considering the clock, and shrugged again, dialing Adam's number.

It took a few rings before he picked up, and Adam sounded a little tired, but not upset. He knew if Adam picked up at all, he didn't need to be worried. "Did I wake you?" Puck asked, stirring.

"Not exactly. I'm still in bed. I should definitely not get used to hearing from you at this time of day, though. You're going to be in school again soon."

"Don't remind me. Um... I'm having a friend over for lunch. She's my daughter's mom." He tapped off his spoon, added the rice, then turned it down low and covered the pot, setting the timer for forty minutes. "Quinn. She was Finn's girlfriend?"

"Yes, you told me the story. Is this a social visit?"

"I'm..." He looked around the kitchen. "I guess I was... I don't know, lonely? I was making lunch and it was just for me, and... I called her." He leaned against the sink and closed his eyes. "I miss you."

"Honey." Puck could see Adam's smile in his head, and it made it that much worse. He wiped his nose and tried not to let himself fall apart. "I miss you, too. It's going to be okay."

"It's gonna be a long time, isn't it?" he said in a monotone.

"Probably. I'm doing what I can. The next month is going to be crazy, but maybe in February... I have some time then." Puck heard him sigh. "It sounded like last night was... a good time?"

"Yeah, it was. I just... I had a dream last night. I guess I've been thinking about that." He checked the pudding to make sure it wasn't boiling over. "That's not why I called, though. Quinn... she's kind of, uh, persistent. I said one word about Finn and Carl, and -"

"Carl - who is he again? Finn has another lover?"

"Not exactly lovers. Not yet. I mean, they're... well, I guess they are now." He checked the time, grinning. "Maybe even more, by now. He's the guy who's letting me use this apartment... the pro Dom we talked to last month?"

"A Dom?" Adam sounded startled. "I didn't know Finn was a switch."

"Yeah, well, I don't think he knew either. It's been kind of a surprise. But he and Finn got a lot closer while the two of us... weren't talking. It's complicated, I guess, but it makes Finn really happy. But - my point is, it's a big secret, right?"

"Because Carl's an adult?"

"Maybe." Puck shrugged. "I used to do all kinds of things with my pool clients, and _they_ were grownups too. Not such a big deal to me, but... well, Finn's not like that. He takes things way seriously."

"I get that. So you think Quinn's going to find out about the two of them?"

"Yeah, but Carl gave me a cover story. And I thought maybe... uh, we might need one too." Puck felt himself flush. "It's just... I'd never _mean_ to tell anyone, Adam, but sometimes..." He sighed.

"Mmmm. Yes, I can see how it would be... challenging, for me to rely on my influence from a distance to take care of any infractions that come up around us. But I'll just say up front, anything you talk about openly will make it that much harder for us to see each other again. My publicist is already having fits."

"I know, Adam," he whispered. He felt that familiar quiver inside.

"Okay, honey. I'll take care of it. For now... can you keep the story about us vague? No names; nothing about me being a performer?"

He nodded, then rolled his eyes at himself. _Stupid phone._ "Yes... yes, I can do that."

"All right. If you can do that, you can talk to Quinn about us. And tell me everything you tell her, tonight, just for my peace of mind."

"Yeah, okay." He heard the front door buzzer ring. "She's here now. I'd better go."

"Call me later, Noah."

"Yes... Adam. And, uh." He dropped his voice, completely needlessly, since it was his apartment, but... it was _Adam_. "Thanks."

"You're my good boy," Adam said tenderly, and Puck gripped the counter to keep the wave of emotion from knocking him over. "Go have lunch. Don't worry too much about this. It's going to be fine."

"Okay." He took a deep breath, then set the phone down on the counter and hurried to the front door to buzz Quinn in.

She was out of breath by the time she got to the top of the stairs, and handed him a loaf of bread with a reproachful glare. "What took you?"

"Sorry. Phone call. What's this?"

"Britt made it. Don't ask me, but it's probably good, knowing her. She made it last night." She glanced around the apartment in clear confusion. "Where the hell are we?"

"It belongs to a friend. He's letting me crash here for a while." He grinned at her expression. "What do you think?"

"Not bad," she said, nodding grudgingly. She touched one of the photos in the hallway with a finger, and made her way back into the family room overlooking the roof of the building next door. "I didn't even know there were apartments here."

"Me, either." He took her hand and tugged her into the kitchen. "You want something to drink besides water?"

"Puck." Quinn stared at the table, spread with casserole dishes and place mats and napkins and mismatched silverware, and gazed at him with wide eyes. "You did this?"

"Yeah?" He smirked. "It's kind of my thing. Come on, let's eat. Let me feed my daughter."

Quinn hadn't been kidding about the stir fry; she didn't seem bothered by the level of spice at all. She ate every bite of the pasta and most of the salad, and when Puck said, "Rice pudding's on the stove," she actually perked up.

"Please don't tell anybody I ate like this," she said, watching him spoon the steaming pudding into a bowl. "It's embarrassing enough I stopped counting calories. I'm just always so _hungry."_

"Well, you're supposed to be taking in an extra 200 calories a day in the second trimester," Puck said, finishing off the last of the pasta, "and 200 more next trimester." He grinned at her expression and handed her the bowl. "Finn and I looked it up on this web site."

Quinn shook her head in disbelief. "I really don't get Finn. One day he's telling me he doesn't want to be a father, and then the next he's... he's reading _baby development_ web sites with _you."_ She sighed, rubbing an unconscious hand over her belly. "And then there's the whole gay thing. I mean, when did _that_ happen?"

Puck shrugged. "I think a long time ago, to be honest. I've always had a thing for Finn. Since we were little kids, even. I mean, I didn't know I wanted to get into his pants until I was a little older, but... yeah."

She took a meditative bite. "But Finn? He's so... straight. You?" She waggled her spoon at him. "I'm not so surprised. Everything's a game with you. But Finn -"

Puck felt a sudden flush of anger. "It's not a game," he said heatedly, and she grew quiet, her eyes big. He tried to calm his voice down. "And it isn't for him, either. He's my best friend, and I felt like shit without him. And yeah, I'm totally hot for him. I mean, it's not like how it is with A- uh." He thought fast. "With... Max."

Quinn's eyes narrowed. "Who's Max?"

"The guy I met in Santa Fe. He's... uh, older. An adult. He lives... in another state." He smiled; at least that part wasn't faked. "He's really amazing."

"You left Kurt and Finn to go down to Santa Fe and meet another guy?" Her face was screwed up in perplexity. "I really don't get that."

"Yeah. I don't either. But I guess there's always more love."

"Or maybe you're just completely selfish and fucking _stupid,"_ she snapped. It was his turn to jerk back in shock. Quinn looked absolutely pissed. "I'm telling you, Puck, you're going to mess this up if you keep playing at relationships the way you always have. You're such a complete fuck-up. What, do you think these guys are just going to wait around for you to be done with your new relationship - what's his name, Max - and be _happy_ about it?"

"It's - it's not like that," he said, hearing his voice tremble a little bit.

"It's _exactly_ like that," she said with a sneer. "I can't believe you'd be so stupid. How many people get a relationship like you and Finn have? _Nobody,_ that's who. And Kurt... well, I don't really see it, but you sure seem happy together, and he's clearly nuts about you. And for some reason Finn's okay with the two of you together, and all three of you -" She shook her head, like she was trying to rid herself of some annoying biting fly. "And _now?_ More guys, or girls, or whatever - it's not cool, Puck." Her voice was getting louder with each word.

"Okay, okay, Jesus fuck, Quinn. Just calm down." Her tone was angry, and her words were cruel, but it sounded remarkably similar to the words he heard in his head when he was entirely sure he'd made a huge mistake and had no idea what it was. _My Ma,_ he thought, pushing his chair out. _She's channeling my dead mother. And doing a fucking good job of it._

"You think it's going to fly for you to be hanging out with all these... these _boys_ when you're trying to take care of your daughter? _My_ daughter? No. That's not okay. You're not going to... raise her in that kind of environment." Now she was getting a little hysterical. Puck crossed to crouch in front of her and grabbed her wrists. She tried to pull away, but it was halfhearted at best.

"First of all, Quinn, _you_ don't get to say what I do with her anymore," he said, low and quick. "She's my daughter. You get to... I don't know, to visit with her on weekends and holidays and take her to the mall and whatever you chicks do. That's it. I get to have all the runny noses and sleepless nights and dirty diapers and first steps and first words. _I_ get to be her Papa. _Me. _ She's _mine._"

Quinn looked like she might bolt for a minute; she turned her eyes to the ceiling, the table, the floor, everywhere but at Puck's face. When she finally did look at him in reproachful agony, she spat out, "You can't have _everybody,_ Puck."

He paused for a moment, trying to reign in his temper while he considered that. "No," he conceded. "No, I guess I can't. But tell me, who benefits when I'm fucking miserable? Because I tried that loving one person business? And it totally didn't take. Everybody's choosing this, Quinn. Finn and Kurt, and … Max, and Finn's got a new guy, and _he's_ fine with it, too. I'm not talking anybody into -"

"Finn has a... what?" Quinn sat back in her chair and let her hands fall to her lap. Puck let her wrists go, but she wasn't going anywhere now. It was like all the air had been let out of her, and now she was slumped against the back of the seat.

"Yeah." Puck thought hard for the name Finn had said on the phone. "Derek. He knows about us. Finn's over there right now, having lunch." He closed his mouth on the words, thinking maybe he'd said too much, but it was a little late for that, and all he could do is hope she didn't think to question Finn later.

"_Another_ guy. Finn." It was clearly not penetrating. She shook her head again, slowly this time. "Puck, I..."

He put a gentler hand on her knee, gazing up at her, willing her to understand. "This, what we've got, I know it's weird, Quinn, it's like a whole boatload of weird. But it's _good._ We're all okay with the weird. It's not just me and my fucked-up mind anymore. We're all getting what we need. And it's going to be all right, because... _she's_ going to have lots of people taking care of her. Me and Finn and Kurt, and Burt and Carole, and Sarah, and... everybody. You're going to have to trust me on that."

All the anger was gone, now, and she was completely deflated. "All right," she said. "I'm sorry."

"You're _sorry?"_ He tried a smile. "Come on. That was the old Quinn, back again. I knew she had to be in there somewhere."

He grin was tired, but seemed genuine. "I think you're the only one who loves me for being a bitch, Puck."

"Nah. What do they say - hormones? You get to blame it on those. Come on, let me put the rest of that rice pudding into something. You'll eat it later, right?" This time her smile was a little more enthusiastic. She followed him to the stove and watched him put spoonful after spoonful of pudding into a glass bowl.

"So... what, I come into your house, I eat your lunch, I insult you... and you send me home with more food?" She shook her head, mystified. "What's wrong with this picture?"

_Well, you're not spanking me, that's for sure._ He almost laughed aloud at the image. "How about me, inviting you over next Tuesday for more lunch? You like almonds? I make this great pasta salad..."


	44. Chapter 44

****_(Author's note: Not much to say here, other than warnings for Adam and discipline (duh). Big, big thanks to Flynn for writing Tess. Enjoy. -amy)_

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><p><strong>December 29<strong>

"Riordan," came Tess' short voice over the line, low and feminine, but powerful.

"Ms. Riordan? This is Adam... we spoke on the phone in December? I'm Noah's friend."

"Adam. What can I do for you?" Her voice didn't soften at all, but the easy way she asked eased his nerves somewhat.

"I'm calling about Noah's landlord, Carl. I hear you have a connection to him, and... well, it's a little unorthodox, but I need some help."

"Carl Howell? All right, Adam. Is Noah in any kind of trouble? Or has Carl made either of you uncomfortable?" The questions were sharp, pointed, and demanding.

"No - no! Nothing like that." Adam sounded startled. "No, it's just that Noah's been... lonely. I've managed to pull some strings at the last minute and get a red-eye arriving at Fort Wayne International tomorrow morning, but I'd rather keep my arrival as much of a surprise as I can. That means I need someone to let me into Noah's apartment."

Tess chuckled. "Forgive me, Adam. Carl's managed to get himself back under my eye, and I shouldn't have jumped to an immediate conclusion. That will require Carl's permission - and I'm glad to hear you planning something for Noah. He... deserves the care," she said delicately.

"I know," Adam said, sounding pained. "I can hear it on the phone every night. I want... well. That's not important. Do you think you can help me? I need to get in touch with Carl."

"Certainly, honey. That's very good, that you speak with him every night, and from personal experience I can tell you a surprise visit will be full of unexpected delights - for both of you. I haven't heard from Noah in a few days. Is he settling? I worry about those boys."

"Well." She heard Adam's cough. "I think Noah's doing just fine, actually. The last I heard, the three of them were back together, resolving their differences."

She breathed out a sigh. "That's a relief. Noah was hurting so terribly, over that."

"Yes." He didn't sound entirely happy about it. "I'm not certain it's completely fixed, but... that will take time. After what happened with Finn, I'm not sure Noah should jump back into things with him... but he seems to trust him."

"They've been best friends most of their... young... lives," Tess suggested. "Their hearts will heal. I must confess, hearing that the two of them are on the mend, that my concern would be Kurt."

"Kurt?" Adam clearly hadn't thought about him at all. "From what I can tell, he's pretty capable. He's in charge of Noah, too, in a way, isn't he?"

"He's a sensitive young man," Tess said, almost severely. "Noah frightened him badly, and now to have Noah come home with a new relationship - and simultaneous to Finn becoming involved with Carl?" Carl's name was spoken with just the slightest of edges; most people would miss it, and she was half hoping the musician would miss it as well.

"I'll keep that in mind," he murmured. "I suppose I ought to talk to him at some point. But right now... do you think Carl will be willing to help me?"

She made a mental note of his redirection. "I think so. He and Noah aren't particularly close - I'll tell you what. Feel free to name drop, if you feel you need the leverage. I believe you are correct: Noah needs this. Let me just look the number up."

"Thank you," he said, sounding relieved. "I have to say, I don't think I've ever wanted to do something _right_ as much as I want to here, with Noah."

"That's the best kind of want," Tess told him. "But their hearts are still tender yet - that kind of breach in trust is a big bruise to take at sixteen." Her tone gentled, as she continued. "Please be careful. And you're quite welcome, honey. And... you might remind Noah to call me now and then, hmm? I don't expect him to speak with me every day, but... You're welcome to call any time as well, Adam."

"Thank you again, Ms. Riordan. And I'll definitely let Noah know he's expected to keep up with you."

"That's rather a reminder," she told him with a little laugh. "He knows. I expect he's forgotten."

"He can manage that much. I know he cares. I'm the incentive against forgetfulness, right?"

That drew a beautiful laugh from her. "That's the best kind, in my opinion. And he left here with a good reminder, on his way home, but I'm fairly certain that Noah would be in need again at this point, hmm?"

"Oh, you can bet that'll be the first thing on my list." She could hear his smile, but it was clear he wasn't kidding. "And having him call you, that'll be second."

"I don't know about that," Tess smirked. "I rather suspect he might like a kiss, don't you? But as you will."

Now Adam laughed. "I'll definitely make time for kisses, Ms. Riordan. But time is short - I need to take care of this soon, if I'm going to make my flight."

Tess relayed the number promptly. "You be certain to tell Je- to tell Carl that he's to call me directly, if he's hesitating, now."

"Yes, ma'am," he said promptly.

"Thank you, Adam. Be careful travelling, please." Her voice was very warm at this point, far more so than it had been at the beginning of the conversation.

"I will be, thank you. Have a good afternoon, yourself."

She bade him a final goodbye, and disconnected the call, smiling contentedly to herself. And then she glanced at her phone, keying up the volume, so she wouldn't miss Jesse's inevitable call.

* * *

><p>Finn's expression was apologetic as he put his phone away. "I'm sorry Puck interrupted with - that. He really doesn't mean to cause problems."<p>

Carl tried to reassure him with a smile. "Don't worry about it, Finn. Puck was doing his best to _take care_ of a problem. You've got to reassure him, not tear him down. He called you looking for support."

"No, he called _you_ looking for support, sir," Finn sighed. He huddled in on himself, looking miserable. "He won't take it from me. I mean, yeah, I'm his friend, but I'm not... doing _that_ anymore."

Carl bent over and gave him one sharp tap on the hip. It wasn't enough to hurt, but enough to give him a psychological wake-up call. Finn jerked his head back. "Be clear, Finn. Language matters. What aren't you doing?"

Finn swallowed, eyes wide. "I'm not. Um. I'm not spanking him. I'm not... Topping him?"

Carl nodded steadily. "And why not?"

"He doesn't want that from me anymore."

Carl narrowed his eyes. "Get up, Finn."

Finn paused only a moment before pushing out his chair and standing before him, watching him with confusion. "You..."

"I've had about enough of this insecurity." Carl made his gaze as specific to Finn as he could. "Who made mistakes? Between the two of you? Who made the mistakes?"

"I did, sir." He wrinkled his brow. "But he did, too."

"That's right," Carl said. "You _both_ did. Now, does he care about you?" Finn nodded mutely. "Do you care about him?"

"He's my best friend," Finn whispered.

"I'll take that as a yes. So why should he trust you any less than he did before?"

"Because I _hit him,_ sir, when he _trusted me_ to take care of him," he protested, throwing out his hands. Carl grabbed them, held them fast, and looked hard into his eyes.

"Yes, you did," he agreed. "Are you going to do that again? Hit him in anger?"

"I don't... I don't know." Finn's chin dropped to his chest. Carl let one of Finn's hands go and swatted him, hard. This time Finn yelped and looked up, stung.

"Was that in anger, just now?"

Finn was almost too shocked to speak, but he managed to probe his brain to answer. He shook his head. "No... not exactly?"

"Maybe - impatience." Carl leaned in to stroke him again, right where he'd smacked him. Finn paused and leaned into his hand, his breath shuddering out. Carl could feel the tension between them escalate with every touch, the closer he got to Finn. The magnetism between the two of them was remarkable. He still didn't quite believe it, even though the result of his attraction was... obvious. Finn's wasn't any less subtle, straining against the front of his jeans. He gave Carl a desperate, longing glance that went straight to his heart.

Carl shook his head, rubbing the spot on Finn's backside. "Not anger. No. You won't make that mistake again. We already dealt with that."

Finn shifted where he stood. "I don't think it matters, though, sir. He... I don't know. He's not responding to me the same way. It's not the same. It's not bad, but... he's changed."

"Or you've changed," Carl said softly. Finn nodded. "Maybe you don't need the same things. Maybe you don't need it with him anymore."

"I do," Finn whispered. "I do... I want it. I miss it." He glanced over at Carl. When he noticed his arousal, he froze, unable to look away.

"All you have to do is reach out and take it, Finn," Carl said, pitching his voice low. He stepped out in front of Finn, and Finn's eyes followed, fixed on the bulge in his jeans. "Puck needs you to be in charge. You want it? You're going to have to claim it, yourself."

"I - I don't think..." Finn swallowed and looked up at Carl's eyes, almost panicked. "I don't know if I can do that."

"Yes, you can," Carl insisted. "You can do it. He wants it. And when you're ready to step up and handle him again, he'll be ready to accept it from you." He took another step toward Finn, so there were only inches between them. "But that's not why you're here, is it."

"No." Finn's mouth parted. He licked his lips, and Carl clenched his own jaw on a noise of wanting. "No, sir."

"You're here for..." He took a deep breath. "Lunch. We're going to have... lunch." He squeezed Finn's hand. "Come on. Angela should be almost done."

* * *

><p>Lunch was actually very nice. They sat across the table from each other, far enough away that there was no risk of accidentally bumping limbs or knees, and after a brief silence in which they each dealt with their own discomfort as best as they could, everything was all right again.<p>

"Do you like football, Finn?" Carl said, carefully not watching Finn put the fork between his lips and chew and swallow. Angela stepped over as soon as Finn's glass was empty and refilled it, and she colored prettily at Carl's nod of approval.

"I'm on the team, at school," he said. "Quarterback, last year. It was a big honor for a sophomore. I think Coach Tanaka likes me. But the season's over now, and I've got to focus on basketball." He made a face.

"You don't care for basketball," Carl said dryly, trying not to smile. _Quarterback. Of course. My boy would be._

"I think people expect me to be good at it because I'm tall." Finn shrugged and took another bite. "But I'm not really very coordinated."

Now he had to smile. "Oh, yes, because they always choose uncoordinated boys as quarterback."

Finn's blush was delightful. Carl had to pause in eating just to admire him, squirming there in the chair across the table. "Did you play football?" he said, a clear deflection, but Carl let him off the hook.

"In the Army, yes. In high school, I was too small to make the team." He paused. "Bowling Green's playing Idaho today at 4:30. If you'd like to watch with me, you'd be welcome to stay."

The smile Finn gave him was far more excited than such a simple invitation warranted, but judging by the dizzy sensation that washed over Carl, he thought he might know just how he was feeling. "Yeah," he said. "I'd like that."

The phone rang. Finn touched his own pocket before looking around in confusion. "It's the house phone," Carl explained, thinking ruefully, _in the olden days, before cell phones, we all had one._ Angela brought him the receiver.

"There's a gentleman on the phone for you, sir," she murmured, glancing at Finn. "I think... you might want some privacy for this."

Finn stood up immediately. "Hey, Angela... why don't you show me where the television is? I'll check out the pregame commentary." He gave Carl a heartbreakingly tentative smile and headed down the hall.

"This is Carl," he said into the phone.

"I found the right person, then," he heard a light voice say. "This is Adam. I'm Noah's... Top."

_Adam? Oh - right. My generation gap._ "I've heard a little bit about you, Adam. Am I to understand this should be a private conversation?"

"I'd rather no one knew I'd called. It's a surprise, for Noah. I need your help."

It was almost as though Carl were Jesse again, for a moment, and he felt the mantle of sneakiness settle over him. "Excellent. What can I do...?"

* * *

><p>Carl joined Finn on the couch in front of the television, smiling easily. "How long until kickoff?"<p>

"Just about fifteen minutes," Finn said, smiling back. "Is everything okay?

"Absolutely, my boy." He slipped an arm around his shoulder. Finn leaned in with a sigh of contentment, snagging the bowl of popcorn off the table with one long arm and bringing it into his lap.

"Thanks for letting me stay," Finn said quietly.

Carl placed a kiss on his cheek, making Finn shiver. "It's not a question of letting you stay," he murmured. "I think it's more a question of whether I ever let you go home again."

Finn stopped breathing for a moment, then tipped his head to peer at Carl out of one eye. He chuckled nervously. "I think that's a joke... right?"

Carl just smiled. "Hand me some of that popcorn, would you?"

Finn paused, then picked up one kernel and held it out for Carl to nibble. Carl raised one eyebrow at Finn, who blushed, but steadfastly kept the kernel aloft.

"You're quite the naughty little boy today, aren't you?" Carl said mildly, but he ate the popcorn.

Finn laughed again, picking up another kernel between two fingers. "I... um. I never have been before, but... I guess there's a first time for everything?"

"I guess so," Carl agreed, accepting the offered kernel with his lips. Finn fed him this way for several long minutes, one kernel at a time, and by the time they'd worked their way through half the bowl, the football game was barely a distraction. Finn was leaning breathlessly into Carl's lap, pressed flush against his chest, and Carl was frantically sorting through his definition of _self control_ for something that made sense here.

In the end, though, it was the look in Finn's eyes that decided him; that, and the quality of desire in his voice when Finn asked, "Is there anything you'd like to feed _me,_ sir?"

Carl took Finn by the shoulders and pushed him roughly to the floor in front of the couch. Finn's look of astonishment didn't hide his own pleasure.

"Thank you, sir," he breathed, and reached for Carl's zipper.

* * *

><p>The truck was definitely making a funny noise now. Puck had to crank it twice before it would even start, and he could feel it hesitating as he limped it down McKibben toward downtown. Thinking about the future made him want to kick something, because he knew he was going to have to get rid of the truck before his daughter was born. Even he knew you weren't supposed to put a baby seat in a truck. Not that he was even sure the truck was going to live that much longer, but fuck if it wasn't one of the only things he'd ever gotten from his dad that was worthwhile, and he <em>really<em> didn't want to think about -

Puck hit the steering wheel once, then took a deep breath and drove on down the street. _And Finn just had to have a fantastic night, didn't he?_ He could hear the way he sounded, even in his own fucking head, and it wasn't pretty, but who the fuck cared? It was his own head, right?

He took the next curve a little faster than he probably needed to, but it was just one of those nights, and nobody else was around. It was three AM, after all. So what if he almost clipped that curb? He gave the truck a little gas and heard that noise again, and felt the tension in his shoulders increase by twenty percent.

_Yeah, I told him I wanted him to give me details. How did I know he was going to be so fucking ridiculous about it?_ Yeah, he guessed maybe he sounded a little like that when he talked about Adam, but...

But Adam wasn't _here,_ and Carl _was, _and... it just wasn't fucking _fair._

So he'd woken up in the middle of the night, feeling ornery for no reason, and he really didn't want to wake Kurt up and explain it to him, and Finn had gone home, and he'd just pulled on his jeans and t-shirt and headed out into the bitter cold to his truck.

He hadn't even called Adam back, like he'd promised. It was only midnight there, but still. He wondered if he should call him from the road, or wait until he was home where he could relax and give him all his attention. It hardly mattered in the end, he decided. Because this, what they were doing, was just pretend anyway. Adam was on the phone, and he was here in Lima, and that was the way it was. He had to be okay with it. The alternative was... too awful to think about.

It wasn't the only thing he was feeling crappy about that night, and he had just enough presence of mind to know that he wasn't being rational about shit right now, but he didn't really care about that, either. He'd had a good dinner with his awesome boyfriend and his _other_ awesome boyfriend, and his boyfriend's awesome dad, who was adopting his sister - but not him -

_Fuck._

He pulled into the parking lot outside Carl's office and let the engine sputter to nothing. He just didn't get how things could sometimes be so good and so fucking _stupid_ at the same time.

The truck, at least, could keep until morning. He was ready for a dark room and a beer and a night of playing Florence + the Machine on the CD player as loud as he fucking wanted. Because yeah, there were some advantages to living alone, right?

Puck used the key to let himself into the dark staircase leading up to his apartment - well, _Carl's_ apartment, if he was going to be honest, it wasn't even really his after all, and things were really looking grim if he was going to get fucking morose about an _apartment -_ and trudged up the stairs to the landing at the top, turning the handle with a sigh.

And froze in the entryway, because there was something hanging outside the door to his apartment, something he hadn't hung there this morning. He reached up a wondering hand to touch the mezuzah affixed on an angle to the door frame. It was a pretty one, grey and purple wood and glass with a little decoration.

_Maybe Carl is Jewish after all?_ was his only rational thought.

Eventually he had to go inside and take the puzzle of it with him in his mind. It wasn't going to get solved in the middle of the doorway. He fumbled into the dark kitchen and dropped his keys on the table.

"Noah," he heard a light voice say, and he nearly fell over.

"What the -?"

The lamp snapped on in the family room, and reaching out to touch the switch was... _Adam,_ his eyes alight and smiling. Puck stumbled forward a step, and caught the corner of the wall for balance. He figured, if he'd made up the mezuzah, there was no reason why he couldn't be hallucinating his lover as well.

But Adam was standing, now, and reaching for him and said his name again: "Noah," and yet again: "Noah, it's okay."

Puck stretched out one trembling hand and grasped for him, clutching him hard, wanting _so_ much for it to be real, but there was _no fucking way_ it was, and - hell, he was having a nervous breakdown right in the middle of Carl's goddamn apartment.

It was a very realistic-feeling nervous breakdown, at least, warm and silky soft, just as he'd remembered Adam to be, and he smelled just the same, and - _oh, fuck, _his lips felt exactly the way he'd dreamed him, every night since he'd left him in the hallway in Santa Fe. He reached for those lips, touched them with two fingers.

"Tell me you're really here," he demanded, and Adam chuckled.

"I really am, honey," Adam said, with a wide smile. "I thought you might appreciate a surprise. I didn't expect you not to be here when I got in, so I've just been waiting."

"How - the door was _locked,"_ he said, and he could _hear_ the whine coming through in his voice. Adam arched an eyebrow.

"You're asking me to reveal my secrets? I've been told a magician never does." He touched Puck on his back. "You're tense, honey."

He wanted to snap at Adam, _of course I'm fucking tense, I've gone a goddamn week without you and that spanking Kurt gave me didn't fill me up, it just made me realize how hungry I was. _But he didn't do that. Instead he buried his face in Adam's purple zebra-striped shirt and cried.

"Honey," Adam breathed, but his arms came up around him, strong and firm, and held him while he fell apart. He could hear Adam whispering into his ear: "I'm so sorry I couldn't be here earlier. But I'm here now. You're going to be okay. Everything's fine."

"It's not," he sobbed. "It's not fine. It's all too much, and I'm a fucking mess."

He heard Adam's soft sigh. "I know it feels like that sometimes, honey... but I'm here to tell you what's really happening. When you're ready to hear it, you just let me know."

Puck was feeling just contrary enough to let the silence go on for several long moments before he grumbled, "What."

Adam's hand touched his cheek. "Are you ready to listen?"

"Yes, Adam," he whispered. His mouth smiled, suddenly, at the words. _Adam. Adam is here, in my family room. _

Adam pulled him down to sit beside him on the couch. "I was looking at my schedule for the next several months, trying to find another time I could come visit, and it just didn't look like it was going to happen. And that - I could hear how you were feeling, what you needed, and - that was just _not acceptable_ to me. I had to come, myself, and take care of you, honey. _I_ needed that."

"You're fucking insane," he said, shaking his head. Adam shrugged.

"I've been called worse. Are you going to trust me, now?" He nodded. Adam's eyes grew hard. "First things first, then. Take off your jeans and shorts. Come on." When Puck hesitated, he snapped, "Right this minute, honey, I'm not fucking around here. I've been dealing with airport and security and all kinds of shit for too many hours tonight. I'm planning for both of us to be in your bed in fifteen minutes."

That got Puck moving, and when Adam helped him over his knee, holding him securely in one arm, all he felt was an overwhelming sense of relief. "You're trying so hard, I know," Adam said as he ran one hand over his back. "I don't want you to think I'm not happy with you. But you need this, and believe me, I can tell all the way from California you're not getting it."

"I - I did," he admitted. "Last night. But it wasn't enough, Adam, and I didn't know how to say that... that it was good, but..." He sighed and laid his head on the couch. "I don't want Kurt to feel bad, either."

"And who are you serving by sparing his feelings through deception, hmmm?" Adam leaned over and laid his head in the center of Puck's back for just a moment, his soft hair brushing his skin. "Don't worry. I brought my own tools."

Puck felt his skin prickle at the word _tools,_ and he was about to ask exactly what tools he was talking about when he felt the impact of a flat, unyielding surface on his flesh. He cried out in surprise.

"You have to tell Kurt the truth," Adam said as he paddled his bottom, quick strokes, all across the curve of his ass and back again. _"Truth. _That doesn't mean just what's convenient for you, or easy. Do you understand, Noah?"

"Y-yes, Adam - oh,_ fuck,"_ he couldn't help but add. Adam just hummed approval. The next set of strokes were decidedly harder, and he cried out Adam's name, bucking, trying to get away from that infernal thing for just one second, because _god,_ it was like fire, the way it landed on his skin. He felt himself rapidly losing control.

"That's right, Noah. You'll take what I give you, remember?" The satisfaction in Adam's voice was evident, and Puck felt himself drinking it in greedily, needing to hear it. "This is for _me."_

"Yes, Adam, _please,"_ he groaned, "all yours, please -"

He spread his legs a little wider, lifting up on Adam's lap, and Adam paused long enough to feel the pulse of his erection with one hand. Puck gasped and whined, thrusting against his lap, the slippery fabric of Adam's pants providing maddening, insufficient friction. Then Adam's fingers were suddenly there, slick and moist, pressing _something _into him, something that slid in and held there, without any effort from either of them. Puck groaned at the sensation.

"You like that plug?" Adam said, smiling. "You can think of this, honey, when you're all by yourself, and I'm on the other end of the phone."

And then the awful, amazing paddle was back, ten times worse than before, and with each impact he felt the plug thrust into him, just deep enough to nudge the space inside him that longed to be filled. He felt the pain and the pleasure intermingled, both together intensifying the other, and it wasn't long before he was so awash with feeling that he could only sob helplessly in Adam's arms. He could hear Adam praising him, telling him he was so good, so good.

"It is," he cried, "it's so good, god, Adam, _so good."_

"You'll talk to Kurt," Adam said steadily. "You'll tell him what you need. And so will I. Tell me you will."

"Yes, yes, I will, god - Adam!"

The next impact was the last, the hardest, right in the center, right against the flat of the plug, and then Adam was on him, pushing him to the floor, commanding roughly, "On your knees, _right now."_

The only sounds in the room were his own moans as he complied, and Adam's harsh breathing as he stripped off his pants and ripped open the condom. But Puck could hear Adam's music in his head, could hear him singing, the words he heard every day on his recording. _Broken pieces, break into me... so imperfectly what you should be... lay here, it's safe here, I'll let you be broken open... _

"Tell me I'm yours," he begged. "Tell me I belong to you."

"You do," said Adam. He hooked one finger inside Puck and pulled out the plug - and seconds later, replaced it with his own body, filling him in one stroke. "You're _mine."_

There were no words necessary after that. It was just the sensation of Adam, finally connecting the circuit that had been incomplete for the past week - and Puck, every nerve tingling with the stimulation of Adam, Adam inside of him, Adam heavy on top of him, pushing him into the carpet, Adam's hand reaching under him to stroke him until he came, and even then not stopping, still not stopping, still taking, taking what he had come for.

Puck had no idea how long it went on like that, but he suspected that they did not make their fifteen minute deadline. Eventually, though, he registered that Adam was no longer moving. He vaguely regretted not being aware of Adam's orgasm, but as he himself had had at least three, he figured he had an excuse for being a little distracted.

"Adam," he mumbled, flat on the floor. He could feel the muscles in his thighs trembling.

"We've really got to remember to do this _on_ the bed next time," said Adam. Somehow he managed to help Puck get to his feet and helped him walk down the hall to the bedroom. Puck felt a glass of water put to his lips, and he drank. The sheets were cool. He heard the shower running, and some minutes later, felt Adam's damp, clean body slip under the sheets next to him. He sighed and felt his own body relax further into the mattress.

"I still can't believe you're here," he murmured, turning his face into the scent of Adam beside him.

Adam sought his lips and kissed him, long and full. "You'll believe it tomorrow, honey," he whispered, "when you see the bruises on your backside from that lexan paddle."


	45. Chapter 45

_(Author's note: Last chapter became longer than anticipated, so I'm posting it in two parts. I promise, this angst is temporary. Hang in there. -amy)_

* * *

><p><em>He was seven; Finn was eight. He got transferred from Mr. Richardson's second grade room halfway through the year. Everybody knew it was because he'd told Davey Karofsky to cut off Quinn Fabray's ponytail, but Mrs. Wright just stood in the front of the room with her hand on his shoulder, saying firmly, "Please welcome Noah Puckerman to our class." It was clear she wasn't going to let them treat him any differently just because he was a bad kid. Noah liked that, just as he liked the way Finn Hudson smiled at him. Like he might give him another chance.<em>

_He was eight; Finn was nine. One day when Davey was busy, Noah's dad drove him and Finn to the mall to see Shrek, which was totally hilarious, and they threw popcorn at each other while they waited for him to come pick them up afterwards. He never showed. But Finn had his mom's emergency number and neither one was too freaked out by being alone at the mall. Anyway, they were tough, and there was nothing scary at the mall, right? Meemee could totally take any of those big boys that followed them around. It made him think, maybe, they might be school friends one day, instead of just home friends. _

_He was nine; Finn was ten. Davey was pissed because Noah had picked Finn first for dodgeball instead of him, so Davey had ditched him to go to the library or something stupid. So yeah, he'd called Finn to hang out on the weekend again, and Finn looked like he was actually happy about that. This time Finn had come over to his house. He was a little worried that his dad was going to be an ass, but he was still sleeping off his hangover, so they just played Chutes and Ladders with Sarah, and Noah showed Finn how to play Yellow Submarine on the guitar. Finn said he should come over tomorrow and see his drum kit and they could jam. Noah made him lunch, and Finn ate it happily and didn't think it was weird at all._

_He was ten; Finn was eleven. Noah went to soccer camp because he got this scholarship, and really it was easier on his Ma if he wasn't at home during the day in the summer, so even though it was hard to be away from Sarah and Meemee, he went. Camp was okay; he didn't get into too much trouble, and he was better than most of the boys. Finn wrote him a letter while he was gone, an actual paper letter, full of all the right things to say, because that's how Finn was. Noah put it under his pillow and puzzled through all the words a little at a time, and by the time he'd read the whole thing it was time to go home. He felt bad for not ever writing back, but he kept the letter. When he got home, Meemee had vanished, and he didn't come home. Noah never went away to camp again._

_He was eleven; Finn was twelve. They spent most of the spring skateboarding in Faurot Park, but then Finn was trying to do a complicated jump off the curb and he fell and something in his hand went CRACK, and Finn was crying and there was blood and Noah was scared shitless. But he managed to get Finn's emergency phone out of his pocket and call his mom, and she came and picked them up and took them both to the hospital. She had him sit in the back with Finn, and Finn's other hand had a death grip on Noah, and he just sat there and let him hold on. They walked into the emergency room like that, Noah holding him up, his body as close to Finn's as two boys could be, just about. They'd both gotten hard enough that it was impossible not to notice, especially when they made Finn take off his clothes and put on that dorky hospital gown. Noah thought Finn might be more embarrassed than he was, so he just made a joke about it, and Finn even laughed. Finn came home with a cast on his wrist. They both put away their skateboards, and by the time the cast came off it wasn't cool to skateboard anymore. That day in the hospital was the first day Noah started having dreams about Finn, and he knew they weren't cool either, so he kept them to himself._

_He was twelve; Finn was thirteen. Now that his dad was gone, he and Sarah spent most days after school, and a couple evenings a week, at Finn's. He knew he and Sarah would have totally been fine at his house alone, but it was Finn, and he wasn't going to complain, you know? They did their homework, kind of, and messed around with Finn's drums and his guitar, and played way too much fucking Monopoly. Sometimes they talked about girls. Noah never talked about his dreams, which definitely involved Finn most nights, and sometimes his dad, and shadowy images of ropes and blows to his back and one hand clamped tight over his mouth and the other between his legs. Sometimes he woke up crying and sometimes he woke up coming, and he didn't know which one was more embarrassing. _

_He was thirteen; Finn was fourteen. Noah's Ma said they couldn't afford guitar lessons that year, so he started playing poker on Tuesday nights with a bunch of high school students to pay for them. He could count cards with the best of them, because math wasn't hard like reading, and he was starting to get arm muscles, so he figured he looked badass enough to stand up for himself if things got complicated. But his Ma'd had some words for him about gambling, and that was distracting enough, and one day - well, the short story was that he lost, bad, and he was out of money and IOUs weren't going to cut it with this crowd. He was on the verge of offering to cook for Andrew Baker, the tenth grader who was ahead eighty bucks (not that dinner would be worth eighty bucks, but he thought maybe a couple of dinners might qualify) when Andrew looked at him and said, "I bet we can work something out." Which is pretty much how Noah wound up giving Andrew a blowjob on the couch in his basement. It clarified a few things for him about how that worked, because up until then he'd never even had a blowjob. After that, at least, he was sure he liked giving them. It changed poker night for him, too, because even if none of the other players ever found out, Andrew still let him suck him off whenever he wanted after they were done playing - which, face it, was kind of a lot. It also meant that one time when Finn came to play poker with them, and lost bad, all Noah had to do was smirk at Andrew and say, "He's covered, right?" and all debts were forgiven. _

_He was fourteen; Finn was fifteen. He was Puck, now. They both made junior varsity football, and Finn was clearly being groomed for varsity QB, whereas he was pretty much stuck running Finn's plays. He didn't mind it, though. Finn had always been the one to be in charge of their games, anyway; this wasn't so different. He kind of liked doing what Finn told him to do. Except - except sometimes, he didn't; sometimes he got pissed off at Finn, and he did exactly the opposite of what Finn told him to do. And sometimes Finn got pissed off back and put him in his place, and sometimes Finn just went along with it, which pissed him off more. What the hell? Why wouldn't he fight back? He had no idea why he wanted to fight him to begin with, but it sure seemed important when it was happening. Then he'd go home and have another fucking confusing dream about Finn and jack off and everything would be fine. _

_He was fifteen; Finn was sixteen. He was pissed when his Ma told him they'd be spending half the summer in fucking New Mexico. The only way he could flout her control of him was to get his nipple pierced on his sixteenth birthday, and immerse himself on the open mic circuit in downtown Santa Fe. Two weeks into his trip, he met a bass player named Nicole with a mohawk and eighteen piercings, only six of which were visible. She had the sexiest velvety voice he'd ever heard, and gave him bedroom eyes all evening, until he was sure he'd be getting lucky that night - and then the blonde walked up to her and gave her a distinctly non-chaste kiss. "My girlfriend Daphne," Nicole said, and Daphne smiled at him, green eyes wide and curious. They took him home in their car and explained the situation with their lover Alex, how he was in charge, but they could have their own lovers if they wanted to. Puck swallowed his fear and latched on to the opportunity with the words, "So, is he going to watch or join in?" When he woke up the next morning in bed with all three of them, all he could do was smile and feel so fucking lucky. It didn't go away, not after three weeks of lucky, and when he drove away from Santa Fe later that summer with his Ma and Sarah, he felt like he was leaving a piece of his heart behind. His world in Lima seemed a hell of a lot smaller after that, the problems of high school petty and insignificant by comparison to what he'd experienced, what he'd learned about himself, who he was, what he wanted. The worst thing was, he knew what he was missing now, and his dreams highlighted each detail of his memories in stark black and white. But there was no fucking way he could tell Finn - straight, good boy Finn - what he wanted to do to him, or have done in return. He could watch him, though... and no matter how much he liked singing, loved making music and performing, in the end, that was the real reason Puck ended up joining Glee. _

* * *

><p><strong>December 31<strong>

"Noah... honey, come on. Wake up. It's all right. I'm here."

The dream hung on with claws and fangs, leaving tendrils of color and terror behind, but by the time he realized whose arms he was in, Puck couldn't remember any of it, not anything of substance, anyway. Then he could only burst into tears, because there he was, in bed with Adam, who'd flown all that way just to see him, and all he felt was so disappointed that it wasn't _Finn_ holding him after his nightmare had faded.

"I'm okay," he gasped, wiping his face with one hand. "I'm okay. Dream. No big - just happens. Most of the time I just get up, don't bother to try going back to sleep."

Adam's kisses landed lightly on his face, covering the tears and bathing his skin with warm breath. "You're going to, though."

"Going to what?"

"Go back to sleep," Adam whispered. "And I'm going to make you. Tell me what it was about."

And because it was Adam, and hell if he was going to deny him anything, Puck tried, in halting words, to dredge up the fleeting images and figures of his nightmare. Adam listened in silence, holding him close, closer than Puck would usually have liked, but Adam was _there, _right next to him, and he was not going to push him away one inch.

The telling of the dream had an unexpected effect; by the time he was done, he felt his body relaxing and his eyelids closing. It didn't hurt that Adam's own response to everything he told him was simply to hum and take it in. He didn't say _Noah, you should really just give that up, you're being ridiculous. _When he got to the part about the boy in the club, Adam didn't say _that's impossible, there's no way you could really know that. You're making it all up. _ And when he got to the part about Finn, and the tears coalesced all over again, he just buried his face in Adam's hair.

"You're allowed to _want_ things, Noah," was all Adam said, gathering him tight. "You're allowed to need them."

"But he doesn't want that with me anymore," he sobbed. "I don't even know if _I_ do. What the fuck am I supposed to do about that?"

"Just be yourself, honey." He stroked Puck's hair, his fingers discovering spots on his scalp that made him shiver and go weak. Or it might have just been Adam all by himself that did that. "Let it happen. If it works between the two of you, you'll know it, right? Just like you knew it with us. You love him. Don't you think he loves you?"

"Yeah... I think he does." Puck thought of Finn, the way he'd been since Puck had returned, the closeness they'd rekindled, but the remaining distance still gaping between them. He thought of the expression on Finn's face when he was talking about Carl, of Finn touching his face gently while they discussed his growing daughter, of Finn with his hands on the wall of the shower looking absolutely delicious and splayed open for him to fuck.

"It's not bad," he added. "But it's different. I have to - initiate everything. It's... a little weird."

Adam nodded. "You hurt each other. From what you tell me, he made some pretty bad choices. I can imagine he's not feeling very good about that. You may need to give him time to heal."

Puck shook his head. "You don't understand. Since we were kids, even, when he used to act like this, I'd be a... well, a _brat,_ until he reacted and took control." He paused, realizing something. "God. I did that with my dad, too. Huh." He made a noise of frustration. "But... Finn's not _taking_ control, and this time I don't think he's going to."

"He's scared, honey," Adam insisted.

"I don't fucking care!" Puck shouted. "Forget _me - _he needs to step it up, for _Kurt._ Kurt needs him to be in control as much as... Even if he's not going to do it for me, he needs to do it for him. Kurt's falling apart without his Top."

Adam nodded silently, looking troubled. "Do you think Finn would listen to you if you told him that?"

Puck sighed. "I doubt it."

"Worth a try, though?

"I guess..." He sat up. The clock read 8:19. "Wow - it's, like, the next day."

Adam hauled him back down to the bed, hands on his shoulders. "You're surprised? We didn't even get to bed until after four. Come on, lie down. For me, it's still five AM, and you barely got any sleep at all."

Puck still figured there was no way Adam was going to get him to go back to sleep now, but he didn't count on Adam kneeling between his legs and taking him into his mouth, without any anticipation or even one word of warning. Puck heard himself make a noise of stunned disbelief. It could have been the way he'd been thrown off his sleep cycle, or just Adam's presence alone, but it didn't seem to make any difference that he'd just had several orgasms a couple hours before.

_Or maybe it was just that Adam is really, really good at this,_ Puck thought, even as he gave one last feeble thrust up into Adam's mouth and gasped as he came.

"Sleep, now," Adam murmured against the skin of his abdomen.

"Yes, Adam," he replied, and closed his eyes.

* * *

><p>Burt took two hesitant steps down the basement stairs before he saw Kurt stretched out on the green couch, alone, in his white robe. "They're not here <em>yet?"<em> he marveled. "How late can two boys sleep?"

"I doubt they're _sleeping_, dad," Kurt snapped, cinching the tie on his robe a little bit tighter and scowling.

Burt watched his son's tense posture, the way he hugged his own arms through the robe, and sighed to himself. _Gone are the days when I could solve this problem for him,_ he thought. _He can't depend on his dad for this anymore. _But he offered, anyway, because in Burt Hummel's world, dads did that, even when they knew they'd get shot down. "Anything I can do?"

Kurt smiled at him faintly, but shook his head. "I'm fine."

Burt knew better than to argue with Kurt when he said he was _fine._ "Well, Carole called about a half hour ago, and she said she and Finn would head over soon."

Kurt glanced up at him, startled. "She and - Finn?"

Burt nodded. "Yeah... for our annual New Year's Movie Marathon? Don't tell me you don't want to do it this year." _Everything else had changed... couldn't one thing stay the same?_

"Of course, Dad... but what about Noah?"

"She didn't say anything about him, but yeah, no reason to expect him not to. I just assumed he was at his own place." Burt frowned, coming around the couch to sit beside Kurt. "What's going on here, Kurt? I thought for sure Puck was, uh, here last night?"

"He was." Kurt folded in a little more around himself. "But he wasn't there in the morning, the bed was... cold." He didn't even look embarrassed to be mentioning this to Burt. "I assumed he'd gone to Finn's. But apparently he just went home."

Burt didn't miss the stricken sound of Kurt's voice when he said _home. _He put a careful hand on his back. "I know you want everything to be the way it was, Kurt," he said softly. "But it'll be a long while before that boy recovers from what happened. He needs space to figure things out. You can't expect him to be here every -"

"I don't!" he protested. "Noah... he can have whatever he needs." Kurt bit his lip, looking for a moment so much like Elizabeth that Burt had to catch his breath. He visibly steeled himself. "I... I take care of him, Dad."

"All right," said Burt, trying to be steady, trying to understand without really understanding. "He needs that, clearly. Whatever it is you're doing."

"Yes," Kurt said fervently. "He really does. That's the problem. He... he left. Last night, instead of asking me for... help. And I don't know how to fix it."

Burt just sighed and pulled Kurt closer, his white robe brushing against Burt's arm. _My young man... who loves these young men. I wonder when that's going to stop being so bizarre. _"Talk to him," he said. "Tell him what you're worried about. He'll listen, right?"

"Yes," Kurt said again, this time in a whisper. "But he might not understand, or believe me, or... or want it from me."

Burt had nothing he could say to that, other than, "I'm sorry, Kurt."

"Yeah." Kurt scrubbed at his eyes with one sleeve, and Burt decided now was not the time to make Kurt dig out his handkerchief. "Me, too."

They sat there together on the couch until they heard the door open and Carole's voice call, "Happy new year's eve!" and Kurt pulled himself together as he stood up.

"I'm going to get dressed," he whispered, and Burt nodded.

"Take your time. We'll need it, to explain all the rules of the New Year's Movie Marathon." Even that didn't elicit a smile from Kurt. Burt watched him go into his room and shut his door with a sense of unease. _I thought this was resolved, but I guess it wasn't._

Burt smiled at Carole, though, as she came down the stairs to the basement, and at Finn, who looked as calm and collected as he'd seen him. _Whatever's happening, it doesn't seem to be affecting Finn._ He gave her a kiss. "Happy new year's eve, sweetheart."

He realized what he'd said only after he saw Finn's startled reaction, but Carole didn't seem to mind at all. "I brought some shrimp," she said. "It's up in the kitchen. Where's Kurt?"

"Getting dressed." Burt didn't look at either of them, because he knew exactly how intuitive Carole was, and he was beginning to suspect the same of Finn. "You guys heard from Puckerman this morning? He seems to be... absent, again."

Now Finn looked positively alarmed. "He was here last night."

"Calm down," Burt said, holding out a hand. "Kurt said he probably just went home. But -" He glanced at Carole now, who had a look of concentration of her face. "Maybe one of you should give him a call, just to be sure."

Finn pulled out his phone while Carole sat down close next to Burt on the couch. "I didn't expect Finn last night, either," she said, with a quiet laugh. "I guess it's something when I start to worry when my son's choosing to come home instead of sleeping over at his boyfriend's house?"

"Don't even try to make sense of it, Carole," he murmured, leaning his forehead against hers. "I'm just trying to take one day at a time. As long as Kurt's happy, I'm calling it a win."

"Mmmm." Carole glanced at the closed door of Kurt's bedroom. "And - ?"

Burt sighed. "And he's not. So... what's new."

"Hey," she chided. "He's been a lot better. All of them have. You can't expect it to be perfect, all the time."

Finn closed his phone and gave them a strange smile. "He's... he went home. He's fine. He said he'll be over in a couple hours."

Carole and Burt exchanged looks, but neither of them commented. "Well, somebody's going to have to make breakfast," Burt grumbled. "Any volunteers to wake up Sarah? Because otherwise you're going to have to deal with my sorry excuse for omelettes."

Finn laughed. "I'll knock on her door, but I think she might be a little surprised if I go in there. How about I ask Kurt to do it?"

Burt hauled himself to his feet and took Carole's hand. "Whatever works, but please - let's do it soon, okay? I'm about to give up and call it lunchtime."

* * *

><p>Kurt heard the soft knock, and Finn's "Baby?" but he didn't answer right away. This, he knew, was a bad sign, and more than anything else made him sigh and push himself out of bed to reply.<p>

"Come on in." Finn waited hesitantly in the doorway until Kurt took his hand and tugged him inside.

"I called Puck," said Finn. He sat on the edge of the bed. "He went home last night? Did something happen?"

"_No."_ Kurt heard the word come out as a frustrated whine, and Finn moved immediately to take him in his arms. He considered resisting that, too, but really, there was no point, because this was Finn, and there was nothing he could do except sigh and lean his head against his chest.

"It's all right, baby. He's... I'm sure he's fine." Kurt wasn't quite sure how to interpret his tone of voice, but he felt himself relaxing anyway.

"I did something wrong," he whispered. "I made him leave."

Finn jerked away and stared at Kurt in horror. "What? _No._ Kurt, you didn't do - _anything."_

"That's just it," Kurt said miserably. "I didn't. I didn't do anything. Noah needed something and I couldn't give it to him - I didn't -"

"No," Finn insisted, but Kurt shrank back into himself, even when Finn tried to unwrap him from the tangle of his own arms.

"Yes. I'm a miserable excuse for a Top, Finn, and there's nothing you can do to convince me otherwise."

"Oh... _really."_

Kurt froze, but only for a moment. The tone in Finn's voice was dangerously clear, but he knew, he _knew_ he wasn't going to listen. "Yes, really," he snapped back. "Whatever he needs, he's not getting it from me."

Finn's pause was long enough to let the door of trust close in Kurt's heart. _He agrees with me. He knows I'm right._ He pulled away, ignoring Finn's grasping arms. "We're done here."

"Kurt..."

"Get the hell out of my room," he shouted, and Finn just stared at him, wide-eyed. Then he nodded slowly, backing away.

"All right, Kurt," he said softly. "I'll go."

It was the worst feeling, for Kurt, to know he'd said exactly the wrong thing and to immediately want to take it back, and at the same time to know he was never going to. _Don't leave,_ he wanted to say, but instead he watched as Finn turned, walked out of his room and closed the door behind him. Then he flung himself on his bed and cried, not caring who heard. Everything was falling down around his ears, everything he'd come to depend on - the boys he loved, his chosen family, breaking apart. _And it's all my fault._

* * *

><p>When he arrived at noon, Puck found Sarah and Burt in the kitchen making grilled cheese. He set down his groceries and stared at their sober faces, squinting suspiciously. "What's going on here? Squirt?"<p>

"Kurt yelled at Finn and kicked him out of his room," Sarah said. She flipped the sandwich on the griddle.

There was so much wrong with that statement that Puck just sank into a chair and stared at her. "And he didn't... do anything?"

Sarah shook her head, shrugging. "Guess not."

Puck stared across at Burt, who looked like he might be wrestling with words he wasn't going to say out loud. Eventually Puck said, "I bought some havarti."

She didn't turn around, but somehow Sarah's back brightened a little. "Oh, yeah?"

He got the package out of the grocery bag and found the best knife in the drawer, which wasn't saying much, and sliced it as thin as he could manage, handing the slices to Sarah. She accepted them in silence and built a sandwich. Burt stood there, watching them work.

"This." Burt cleared his throat. "Puck... this is one of those things, isn't it? That I was talking about?"

Puck nodded slowly, and Burt exhaled. "It's all right," Puck said.

"Yeah, well, you tell that to my son who won't open the door on New Year's Eve." Burt glared at the pile of cheese on the counter. Sarah immediately turned to Burt and folded her hands around his middle, tucking herself right against him. His eyes flew open, but he didn't move. Puck smiled and took the spatula from her hand, lifting the completed sandwiches onto the waiting plate.

"It's all right," Puck said again, and this time Burt nodded.

"You're going to take care of him, right?" he asked gruffly.

Across Burt's chest, Sarah gave Puck the oddest look; he almost laughed, only it really wasn't funny at all. "Yeah, I think I can do that."

Burt sighed, and Sarah increased her hold on him. Her mouth tightened.

"Finn's supposed to do that," she said.

Puck laid another sandwich on the griddle. "Yeah."

"And he's not gonna?"

"Guess not," he said, mimicking her earlier tone, and she cracked up. That made Burt smile. He leaned his cheek on her hair, kissing her absently.

"I guess that's one good thing about having so many people," he said after a minute. "If there are gaps, you can kind of... fill them in, huh?"

"If we have to," Puck said. "Family shows up, when they're needed."

* * *

><p>Finn looked up from gazing miserably at his hands to see Puck standing at the bottom of the staircase.<p>

"You're missing lunch," he said evenly.

"Yeah, well... I'm not hungry."

"Shut the _fuck_ up, Hudson."

Finn's eyes snapped up to Puck, standing over him with righteous fury blazing. "W-what?"

"This fucking whiny bullshit. You don't get to pull that with me." He gestured imperiously at the couch. "What in hell do you think you're doing here? Kurt, yelling at you and kicking you out of his _room?_ Since when do you let him get away with that?"

Finn opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Puck rolled his eyes and leaned forward, right into his face, shoving a finger into Finn's chest.

"You're being a spoiled fucking little _brat."_

Finn stumbled to his feet, knocking Puck back two steps. "What the hell?" he spluttered. "Puck - you're way out of line here."

"_You're_ the one out of line, _Hudson."_ Puck's finger stabbed him in the chest again, harder this time. "Because apparently you get to fuck around with whoever you want, and to hell with what your _boyfriend_ needs."

Finn's eyes narrowed to hard, thin lines. "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that."

"So? That's your answer to everything these days, huh? Pretend it didn't happen - way to be in charge, _dude."_ Another poke. Finn shot out a hand and grabbed his wrist.

"Don't do that again," he whispered.

"Or else what?" Puck sneered, his chin jerking up. "You gonna hit me again?"

Finn flinched. "No!"

Puck twisted his wrist out of Finn's hand, his rage palpable. "That's your problem. You're just too fucking chicken to do anything anymore. All you can do is whine and go running to your _Daddy."_

Finn's vision went white for a long moment, and it was all he could do to stay standing. He gritted his teeth. "That's enough."

"No, Finn - it's not. It's never enough. You're standing there with that fucking stupid look on your face, like you always have - like you always _did, _and it's _never... going to be... enough._" With each word, Puck's volume rose, until he was screaming in Finn's face. "When are you going to fucking _realize _that?"

Finn might have had a response to that, but he never had a chance to make it, because Puck let out a final, explosive yell and punched Finn square in the jaw. It was hard enough to knock him to the floor, his head knocking into the coffee table.

He grappled for a hold on something, but by the time he was upright again, the door to the garage had slammed shut. Seconds later, he heard Puck's truck sputter to a start and roar away down the street.

Burt and his mom came hurrying down the stairs. "What the hell?" Burt said.

"What happened?" His mom's eyes were wide. "Finn?"

"Puck." Finn put a hand to his aching jaw. "He took off again. It was my fault." He closed his eyes. "My fault."

He couldn't say anything more. His mom was there, holding his arm before he crumpled, but all he could see in his mind was the look on Puck's face right before he'd hit him, the fury and the pain right on the surface. _He'd let him down. He'd let both of them down - Puck, and Kurt._

"Do you think you should go after him?" his mom asked softly.

"I don't know," Finn said in defeat. His mouth felt thick; he wiggled his jaw. "I don't... I don't think I can do it by myself."

"You don't have to." He looked up to the top of the stairs. Sarah was standing there, Finn's own phone to her ear. "Okay, here he is," she said, and held the phone out to him.

He stared at her. "Who -?"

"It's Carl," she said, staring right back. "I think you need to have... _some words_ with him."


	46. Chapter 46

_(Author's note: oh, several of you are upset at Finn again. It's kind of a perpetual state of affairs. He really is a dork, isn't he? And we love him that way. This is the chapter in which he redeems himself. Warnings for discipline. The scene with Puck and Finn at the end has been in my head for months and months, and it's awesome to get to use the Dave Barry excerpts, finally. This is the last chapter; there will be a brief epilogue to follow. Enjoy. -amy)_

* * *

><p>Finn stared at the phone while Sarah took his elbow and steered him into her room, away from Burt and his mom. He tried not to be aware that there had been nothing but a door between Puck and Kurt when they'd been screaming at each other. No doubt Kurt had heard everything that had been said.<p>

"Tell him you're there," Sarah hissed, and closed her door behind them. She sat on the bed, cross-legged, and waited.

He put the phone to his ear as though it might bite him. "Hello?"

"Finn," said Carl's voice, and it was steady and not at all confused. "Tell me the situation."

_What's with everybody bossing me around? _ Finn thought irritably, but the answer was clear. If he wasn't going to do it himself, somebody needed to. He sighed and rubbed his sore jaw. "I'm sorry to get you involved in this, s- "

"I didn't ask for an apology; I asked about the situation. _Now, _Finn."

"Uh..." He glanced at Sarah, but she wasn't budging either, her eyes fixed on him. "I had an... argument with Kurt. And then Puck... lost his temper. He said... well, he called me some names, then hit me and left."

"Somehow I doubt that's the whole story, Finn. Because _that_ wouldn't warrant a little girl calling me and telling me her brother's being an idiot."

Finn couldn't even be reproachful with Sarah, because he knew she was right. "I'm not exactly sure who she means when she says _her brother,_ sir."

"Uh, that would be _you_, dork," she muttered.

He sighed. "Yeah, I guess. I guess I am being an idiot."

"That's not going to help anyone," Carl said. "Tell me what you did wrong."

_Everything,_ he wanted to say, but that was too dramatic and not even true. He sat on the edge of the bed next to Sarah and gazed miserably at the door to the bathroom that linked Sarah's room with Kurt's. "Kurt said... he was afraid, of giving... giving Puck what he needed. But he _did, _sir, he did give it to him - I was there, so I know he did."

"Kurt is permitted to express insecurity to you about his ability to take care of his boy," Carl pointed out. "It's your job to reassure him, and to give him the support he needs to handle it."

Finn sighed and closed his eyes. "Yeah. And I didn't. It's just... I hate to say it, sir, but I'm still not even sure he _can _do it. Or if he wants to."

"Take care of Puck, the way he needs?"

"Yeah," he whispered. "I guess we need to talk about that."

"Or maybe he just needs a good spanking, Finn."

Finn's eyes jerked open. "Kurt? I mean - do you think so, sir?"

"If he's feeling that uncertain, and acting out, talking back to you? Yes. Absolutely. He's scrambling for something that he can rely on. You don't have to fix him, Finn, or solve his problems with his boy. You just have to give him what he needs."

Finn felt Sarah's hand grasp his and squeeze tight. He looked at her, the tears filling his eyes, and he blinked them away. "I didn't do that. He told me to leave and... I did."

"You made a mistake, Finn. It's not the end of the world. Give the guilt to me; I'll take care of you."

With those words, he felt the panic ebb to a manageable level, and he took a shaky breath. "Thank you, sir."

"I'm not finished with you." Carl sounded grim. "Puck. He said some things?"

"Yes, sir..." He swallowed. "He said -"

"It doesn't matter. He was trying to hurt you, to lash out. To get some kind of reaction. And what did you do?"

"Nothing, sir. That made it worse, though."

"Exactly. He needs you to take control of the situation."

"But I _can't,"_ he started, and caught himself before the whine could get worse. Sarah squeezed his hand tighter. He tried again. "I can't do that, sir, not for him. Even if he needs it."

"There may be things you're not willing to do, Finn. We all have limits. But you _can_ find a way to help him deal with this. As his friend, as his lover. You can do that."

The phone felt heavy in Finn's hand. He could barely hold his own head up. He just wanted to lie down on Sarah's bed and give up. "I don't know what to do."

"Yes, you do," Sarah said, nudging him with their joined hands. Finn shot a startled glance at her.

"I'm not sure what -"

"Finn," Sarah said, aggravated, just as Carl said, "Take a deep breath, Finn."

He laughed shakily, brandishing the phone at Sarah. "Have you guys been talking behind my back or something?"

Sarah's glare was intense enough that he actually shrank back a few inches. "You're stalling."

"Jeez," he muttered. "Uh. Okay..." He took the required deep breath, and then another one. "I guess I need to talk to him."

"No," Carl said. "Try again."

"How else am I supposed to get him to _listen_ to me?" he snapped. "All he wants to do is call me names. I can't just sit there and take it."

"Finn," Sarah said, tugging at his hand. "My dad didn't yell at us because we were bad. He was scared. He didn't know what else to do, and he would freak out." She stared at him. "Talking didn't work with him, either."

Finn tried to imagine the short, balding, anxious man he'd seen at Ruth Puckerman's funeral unleashing his wrath on his children. "You know, he was a lot scarier when we were kids," he said.

"I don't even remember him like that. Just from stories." Sarah shrugged. "You're not scary, Finn, but people listen to you anyway. It's a lot better that way. Noah, he'll _listen_, but not yet. You have to get him out of his freak-out first. And you know him better than anyone. Better than he knows himself."

Finn heard Carl make an approving noise. "Are you listening to her?" Finn asked, incredulous.

"I am," Carl replied, with an audible smile. "Are _you?_ Because she's making a lot of sense."

He grinned and shook his head. "You're dead set on taking care of me, aren't you?"

"Are you talking to me?" Sarah said, nudging him again. "I hope you know the answer to that."

Finn slid off the bed, stretched his back, feeling the muscles loosen, then grabbed Sarah and hugged her tight. She let out a feeble protest, but it was more of a laugh than a complaint. "I think I was talking to both of you, sir," he said into the phone.

"That was clear," said Carl, still smiling. "It sounds like you've got it handled now, Finn. I'll be here, if you need anything."

"Thank you, sir." Somehow, with Sarah's eyes on him, he couldn't say more than that. "I'll call you later. And if you see Puck, please - just tell him..." He paused. "I don't know where to tell him to go."

"He wouldn't listen to you anyway," Sarah said. "You have to wait for him to stop moving on his own. He'll find you eventually."

Finn wasn't at all sure that was true, but he said a quiet goodbye to Carl. "Can you make breakfast for Burt and my mom?" he asked Sarah. "I need to start fixing this by talking to Kurt, and I think we could use a little... uh, privacy."

Sarah still looked breathless from Finn's hug, but she nodded. "I can probably get you a half hour, forty-five minutes. Is that enough?"

"It'll have to be." He dialed Puck's number, but as expected, it went right to voice mail. He tried to make his voice as calm and patient as possible. "Puck - when you get this, call me, okay? We can figure this out. Tell me where you are and I'll come to you."

"Tell him you love him," Sarah whispered.

"Uh. I love you." He gave her a questioning look, and she gestured for him to keep going. "You're - you're my family, okay? And I'm not giving up on us. There's a hell of a lot of people here who care about you, and we just want to know that you're okay."

She nodded in satisfaction as he closed his phone and slipped it into his pocket. "He won't listen, will he?" Finn asked.

"He won't listen," she agreed. "But he'll hear."

* * *

><p>Kurt ignored the first knock on his door. When he heard the second one, he called, "Go away."<p>

"I shouldn't have, the first time," he heard Finn say. "And I'm not going to now."

"Is this a stubbornness contest?" Kurt shot back. "Because I'll win."

"Not this time, Kurt. You're going to let me in."

"_No."_

"For fuck's sake, do you hear how you sound?" This time the knock was louder. "Open up."

Kurt gritted his teeth and huddled further under his duvet. "If you loved me, you'd listen to what I want."

"It's because I love you that I'm staying. I made a promise to take care of you, Kurt, and I'm going to do that. I'm not leaving you."

He felt the knot in his throat tighten at the words, but he choked it back, refusing to give in. "You're _not wanted, _Finn. I don't want to talk to you."

"I'm not planning on doing a lot of talking."

Kurt's breath stilled in his lungs, and the fire inside flared for just a moment. He wrapped up tighter in the duvet, wishing for more pressure, deeper contact - and he was absolutely _not_ going to ask for it.

Finn sounded resolute. "Okay, then. I guess I'll go upstairs and explain to Burt why you won't let me in your room."

"He already knows, Finn," Kurt said, but his heart skipped a beat, because really, his dad _didn't_ know all the details, and he wasn't exactly sure he wanted him to.

"I doubt he'll appreciate knowing what I said to you, and what you said back." There was a pause. "Or you can open the door and we can take care of this, right now."

Kurt felt his heart racing, the quivering in his stomach. He heard his brain saying, very logically, very convincingly, _you don't need this. It's not going to help. How could you ever have expected that being hit could help you feel better? It's just going to make things worse. _He knew he could say all these words aloud, and that Finn might even listen to them. Might actually go away and leave him alone. He heard the rush of his own breath in his ears.

"Kurt."

He squeezed his eyes shut, tight, tighter, and put his hands over his neck, like it was a tornado drill. _Go away,_ he chanted in his head. _Go away, go away, go away._

"I'm still here, baby." He couldn't hear any anger, or frustration, or any kind of reprimand in Finn's voice. It was just full of love. Somehow that was so, so much worse. Kurt made a noise, tiny and helpless. "Come on. Just come over here and open the door, and I'll take care of you."

"I can't," he whispered, too small for Finn to hear.

"Open the door, Kurt. It's going to be all right, but you have to let me help."

Kurt reached out from under his duvet for a tissue, but he couldn't find the box. _Handkerchief in your pants,_ his mind registered. But that would require getting out of bed. He put one foot out.

"Baby," said Finn, so gently.

He sat up and untangled the duvet, smoothing it down onto the bed. Then, calmly, with deliberation, he stood, found his handkerchief, blew his nose. Gazed at his bed, then over at the door. Walked over and unlocked it. He waited another ten seconds before turning the doorknob.

Finn's face was kind, but he wasn't smiling. He held out his hand, and Kurt took it without further hesitation. They walked together into the room, and Finn closed the door behind him.

"That's my baby," he whispered, and kissed his forehead, smoothing his hair back. Kurt let his eyes close. He didn't open them again as Finn guided him to the bed and helped him climb up. Kurt began to crouch before him, as they always had done it before, but Finn lifted him back up off all fours so they were beside each other on the bed.

"You know what you need," Finn said.

Kurt nodded, his eyes still closed. If his sense of self-preservation were actually still intact, he thought, he would be flinching away from the intensity of Finn's regard, but he wasn't. It was almost more compelling, knowing what was to come.

Finn's hand stroked his shoulder through his robe. "Are you going to tell me?"

Kurt shook his head once. Finn's hand came over to his neck, down his back, and he felt his body yearn toward his touch.

"Kurt, I'm going to do this whether you ask me to or not," said Finn, "but it'll mean more if you ask for it. It's up to you."

Kurt's head swung back and forth, a pendulum of denial, but he heard his own voice say, "I need it."

"Yes, baby." Finn kissed him, on his cheek, his neck. "Now take off your robe. I want you here, over my knee."

It wasn't something they'd done before, but he'd been there while Finn took Noah on his lap like that, holding him firmly while he spanked him, and thinking about it made him tremble where he knelt. He opened his eyes, blinking up at Finn, and realized they were wet with tears.

Finn gave him a little encouragement with his arm. "Come on. I'll help you." He loosened the tie at Kurt's waist and let the robe slip off his shoulders. The soft fleece made a pile on the floor, but Kurt didn't stop to pick it up. Finn's arm gave him the support he needed to clamber up onto the bed again and stretch his body out, awkwardly, over Finn's long legs.

"Puck has been needing something... intense, for a long time," said Finn. "He got it from Adam, but you didn't give it to him."

"No," whispered Kurt. "I didn't."

"He needs you, just as you need me. Even if you're afraid. You have to be there for Puck... for Noah." His hand on Kurt's bare back was so warm. "Are you ready to give up your fear?"

_Yes,_ Kurt wanted to say, but all he could do was nod.

"Take a deep breath," Finn said quietly, "and let it out."

Kurt's lungs filled with air, and even before he could finish the expiration, Finn's hand had landed on his bare bottom with a loud _smack._ He moaned.

"That's it, baby." Finn's hand landed again, and again, harder each time, and each time Kurt's moans grew. He buried his face in his pillow. "Just let it go."

"No," Kurt cried in anguish. "No... I can't."

"Yes, you can," Finn said, and he sounded absolutely certain. "I'm right here. Just let me handle it. You don't have to do it alone."

Kurt felt the tension winding tighter, like a spring inside him, impossibly more with every stroke of Finn's hand on his flesh. It wasn't like the pleasant, numbing impact of the suede flogger. This was _real_ pain, and every bit of it drew him deeper inside himself. "No," he said again, and cried out as the next swat landed, and it _hurt._ He squirmed away. "Finn!"

"You know how to get me to stop, baby," Finn said steadily, the pressure of his hand on the small of Kurt's back keeping him in place. "I'm going to keep going until you've had enough."

It would have been easy to serve up his safe word, to tell Finn he was done, that it was more than enough, as the rational, reasonably litany continued inside his head: _what, are you nuts? this isn't helping one bit. _But the sound of each slap against his buttocks; each impact, jerking him forward on Finn's knee; each searing pain compounded on bruised skin gave him a reason not to. Because he knew it, that this _was_ something he needed, just as well as he knew Finn was doing it because he loved him. That, more than anything, allowed the sobs to break forth.

"Yes - that's it," Finn encouraged. "That's my baby... so good."

In the minutes afterward, Kurt would feel an overwhelming sense of unreality at the situation, that _Finn Hudson - _quarterback, star of Glee club, and boy of his dreams for ages prior to their unlikely friendship - was saying those words to him. _I'm his baby,_ Kurt thought, in an endorphin-soaked haze. _Me. Kurt Hummel. I'm his._ But in the moment of release, all he could do was cry, and give in to the penance exacted by Finn's hand.

"I think you're almost done, baby..." His words were tender. "I'm going to give you six more."

"God, Finn," he choked, as the slaps dwindled and finally stopped. The silence and absence of stimulation was soft and comforting, and Kurt let himself relax into its embrace.

"All right," Finn said, and lifted Kurt up to cradle him against his chest: solid, warm and exactly, _exactly _what he needed.

"Thank you," Kurt mumbled. "For coming back."

Finn kissed him, pressing their cheeks together, and Kurt felt Finn's own tears on his face.

"Forgive me for not giving you this earlier," he said. "I hesitated; I didn't trust my instincts. I won't make that mistake again."

"It's all right," said Kurt, and it _was,_ no matter how angry he'd been. All of that was gone now. He just felt safe, and cared for, and loved, precisely the way he needed to be. He let Finn hold him up, and let out a long, slow sigh.

"Now," Finn said, holding him tight. "Do you think _you..._ can do that for Puck?"

Kurt considered the question as calmly as if he'd been asked _what's six times seven?_ "I think so," he said. "But I'm not as strong as you. He needed more than I could give him, the other night."

"Carl said you need a tool." Finn stroked his hair. "You could come into the office and we could try them out."

"You mean - you'd try them on me?" Even in the aftermath of Finn's spanking, he still felt a shiver at the idea.

"Maybe." Finn was smiling. "Or you could try them on me."

Kurt blinked. "I -"

"Or you could watch Carl use them on me?"

The gasp that escaped his lips was echoed by Finn's chuckle. "Do you think that would help?" asked Finn.

"I don't even know," Kurt said honestly, his mind reeling, and tucked himself more securely against Finn's body. "Ask me again tomorrow, okay?"

* * *

><p>They were nearly done clearing up from breakfast when Finn and Kurt came upstairs. His mom was smiling faintly at them, and Burt, red-faced, was absolutely <em>not<em> looking them in the eye.

"There are plates in the oven for you," said Sarah, gesturing with her sponge.

Finn walked up, took the sponge from her hand, and gave her a hug. Then he stepped out of the way while Kurt did the same. She was giggling by the time Kurt was done.

"Thank you," Kurt said to Sarah, smiling. "You're really good with Finn."

Finn rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I needed a little nudge."

"Try a great big push," Sarah said, picking up the sponge again. "Dork. And Kurt was easy. Now you have to deal with Noah, and he's a bigger dork than you are. Good luck with _that."_

Finn's mom put an arm around Kurt and looked them both over carefully before nodding to herself. "All set, then?"

The stories his mother had related, however vaguely, of her time doing things like... _this..._ as a younger person echoed in Finn's mind, but he firmly set them aside and nodded back. "We're better now. Thanks."

Kurt looked as red as his father, but after a moment, he gave an exasperated sigh. "Yes... okay. Better. Do we really have to talk about it?"

"Really, Kurt," his mom said, squeezing Kurt's shoulder, "I don't pull many punches when it comes to frank discussions. Just ask Finn. You might have to get used to my style, because it's just going to get more complicated from here on out." Her expression changed to something almost like a smirk. "I don't have to worry about _you_ getting anyone pregnant, do I?"

"_No,"_ Kurt yelped, and Finn decided it was time to rescue him from his mom. He took his hand and tugged him over to the table, handing him the plate of slightly dry eggs, apple-rhubarb pancakes and turkey sausage. In the chair across from him, he perched, ready to be out the door, wolfing the food and giving Sarah a thumbs-up in thanks.

"Where's the fire?" his mom asked, watching him inhale the pancakes.

Finn wiped his mouth and pushed back his chair. "I'm going to find Puck."

* * *

><p>"How do you get this stuff to grow in the <em>winter,<em> again?" Blaine said, through a big bite of kale.

Santana shoved a napkin at him and made a face. "Really, Blainers, can't you wait three seconds to swallow your food before you talk?"

Brittany didn't seem to notice. She sprinkled another few drops of vinegar on top of her salad and added a handful of pine nuts. "Raised bed gardens," she said, "and hoop houses, with plastic sheeting on top. It grows fine. Sometimes it gets squashed by the snow, though - no arugula this year."

He nodded, chewing, and kicked Santana under the table once before swallowing and saying, "Well, it's delicious."

"Yeah," Britt agreed. "Kale's even more magical than spinach. Except if you have hemorrhoid problems."

Blaine glanced over at Santana, pausing in his next bite. "Hemorrhoid problems?" he said quietly, puzzled.

Britt took Blaine's empty plate and set it in Santana's sink. "Yeah, you know, that thing in your neck that makes you tired and depressed and gain weight?"

"_Thy_roid," Santana muttered to Blaine.

"That's what I said," nodded Britt. "You want some pomegranate tart? Puck made it in exchange for two pounds of spinach for their New Year's Eve dinner."

They were helping themselves to seconds when the doorbell rang, and Santana went to answer it. He could hear her arguing with somebody in quiet tones for about thirty seconds before the door closed again and she reappeared.

"God," she said, rolling her eyes. "I thought Finn was the _calm_ one in their relationship. Turns out he's just the _slow_ one."

"What's going on?" Blaine said, curious, but Santana just shook her head.

"Believe me, that story's _much_ too complicated for New Year's. Come on, Britt, you promised us mojitos with fresh mint."

* * *

><p><em>1 text - Quinn Fabray<br>__10:44 am - Got your message - haven't seen Puck at all, but I'll keep you posted. Everything okay?_

_1 text - Finn Hudson  
><em>_10:45 am - not really, but he's been through worse. if you see him tell him to go back to his place, and I'll find him there._

_1 text - Quinn Fabray  
><em>_10:46 am - Seriously, what's going on?_

_1 text - Finn Hudson  
><em>_10:47 am - i messed up again, Q. i'm not sure what to do to make it right but i'm going to try._

_1 text - Quinn Fabray  
><em>_10:48 am - You're good at that, Finn._

_1 text - Finn Hudson  
><em>_10:49 am - what, messing up, or making it right?_

_1 text - Quinn Fabray  
><em>_10:50 am - Both._

* * *

><p>"Who was that?" Artie asked as Mercedes returned to the den.<p>

"Finn," she said, looking worried. "Puck took off again, not answering his phone, and he's looking for him."

Tina shook his head. "That whole situation is way too much drama for me, and that's _me_ talking. I don't know how they handle it."

Mike was silent as the others resumed their game of euchre. He lost the next two tricks, and Tina gazed at him thoughtfully across the table.

"Mike?" she said.

"It's kind of..." he began, then stopped. He glanced around at all of them, watching him, and cringed. "The three of them," he went on, desperately. "I don't know, isn't it kind of... ?"

"I thought it was weird, at first," Mercedes said. "More than weird. I was really worried that Kurt was delusional. I mean, Finn and Puck, yeah, I guess I could see it... but Finn and Kurt? And _Puck_ and Kurt?"

"No, I could see _that,"_ said Tina, waving her hand. She took the last trick and swept the cards into a pile, grinning at Artie. "You heard them in the bathroom."

"I really don't want to hear about it," Mike said, covering his ears.

"No, that's the thing, though," Mercedes persisted. "I think people all just _think _it's weird because they haven't ever seen the three of them together. I've been over to Kurt's house, watched them... hang out. Be, just, themselves, no masks." Her eyes were far away.

Finally Mike said, hesitantly, "And...?"

She smiled. "They were... sweet. And, I think, good for each other. And clearly doing stuff in Kurt's bedroom."

"God," muttered Tina, shuffling the cards. "My mom would disown me if I had a boy over for cookies and milk. Well, maybe if he were an Asian boy, it would be okay. I don't know."

"How about an Asian girl?" Artie flickered an eyebrow at her as she glared. "Or two?"

"That would get me drawn and quartered, and possibly shamed by my ancestors. Don't even joke about it. And you just want to _watch."_

"Guilty as charged," Artie agreed calmly. "Come on, Mike, deal."

"I don't know if I can, though," Mike burst out. "All of this... it's a little much - I can't stop thinking about it, and it's -"

"Mike," Artie cut him off gently, "I just meant... deal the cards."

Mike's face turned red. "Oh," he whispered, looking at his hands holding the deck. "Uh. Yeah. I can do that."

* * *

><p>Matt's phone vibrated on the table beside them. Dave groaned. "Ignore it," he said.<p>

"I can't, man, it could be my mom," Matt said, pausing. With an apologetic glance up at Dave, he peered at his phone. "No - it's just Finn. I'll call him later."

"Much later," Dave agreed, but the damage was done. In the midst of an activity like _this,_ the word _Finn_ inevitably led to thoughts of _Finn and Kurt and Puck._ He really wasn't interested in any of them, not like that, not in a... a fucking weird way like that, but hell, he'd heard enough through the vents that connected the physics lab and the storage closet to know some very choice details about what they did together. He came, hard, seconds later, and leaned back in the chair, rubbing his sweaty forehead.

"You really like doing this?" he asked, in a moment of wild curiosity. Matt looked away.

"Yeah," he admitted. "I mean, I know it's wrong, but... yeah."

Dave couldn't say _I like it too,_ but he knew Matt understood. They both did it to each other - that, and other stuff. It was kind of his favorite thing, doing it for Matt, but he couldn't have explained why. And, even though sometimes it didn't feel wrong at all, he could never have said that to Matt either, because of his religion. He wished he could say _I think God still loves you._ He might even say _I love you, too,_ but that would really be crossing a line, and anyway, he wasn't even sure he actually did.

This wasn't anything like the way things had been when he'd been friends with Blaine. They hadn't ever done anything, not even a kiss, but he'd dreamed about it plenty, and they had been the kind of nice dreams that made it really clear to Dave that he didn't like girls the way he liked boys. The way he'd liked Blaine. More than liked him.

He carefully didn't think about the way he'd called Blaine a fag, had let Z call him worse. _Ancient history, Karofsky,_ he thought, angrily zipping up his jeans. _It's all over now; you never have to see him again. And don't forget, he's the one who walked away from you._

"Hey, Finn," said Matt into the phone. "Uh - no, I haven't seen him. You want me to...? Okay, yeah, sure. No problem. You having a good break?"

Matt was always so fucking _nice._ It wasn't even the whole super-Christian thing. He was just like that, all the time. Dave didn't know how he did it. He sat there, stretched out on the chair, and put his head back, sighing.

"He's looking for Puck," Matt said, after he'd hung up. "Took off again, I guess. Man, you won't believe how stressed out he was when Puck disappeared for that whole week. They're still best friends, even after that fight."

"Yeah," Dave said, avoiding Matt's eyes. _Best friends, my ass. _He wouldn't out Finn, because it wasn't something you did to a former friend, no matter what kind of a prick you were. Even if said friend had pretty much ditched you in second grade for a new best friend. Not that he held a grudge. Not Dave Karofsky.

* * *

><p>"Isn't that Kurt's car?" Frances said, pointing with one mittened hand. Sarah looked, squinting into the sun.<p>

"Yeah, that's his Navigator," she said. "But it's not Kurt driving. Finn's still hunting for Noah."

Frances got a better hold on the handle of her sled and they trudged up the hill, cutting a path through the snow with their boots. It was just cold enough to keep the snow on the ground, but in the midday sun, it was starting to turn to slush.

"Mr. Hummel's really adopting you, huh?" she said.

Sarah nodded soberly. "Looks like."

Frances always wondered how much she could talk about this part of Sarah's life with her, because she was so protective of her brother, and Puck and Finn were kind of her brothers, too. "But Finn and Puck, they're not really together? I mean, they're kind of together, but it's not going very well?"

The dark expression on Sarah's face made Frances want to take it all back. "They're together," she said. "Nobody's breaking up with anybody."

"I didn't mean they were breaking up," she protested, "but... well, they're fighting so much, and I just wonder..." She sighed. "What happens to you, if Kurt and _Puck_ start to have problems? You have a brother by adoption and another brother by birth - what if they're not even _talking_ to each other?"

"Not going to happen," Sarah said, stoically hefting the back of the sled over a tree stump.

Frances shook her head. "You mean, never?"

"Nope."

She frowned. "How do you know that?"

Sarah paused in her climb, not even winded, and gazed down at her. Frances wondered how the hell she did that when she didn't work out, ever, and Frances, who was third in her class in tennis, could already feel her heart pounding.

"They're made for each other," Sarah said simply. It was apparently not even a question for her. Frances found she had no response to that kind of certainty, and instead just continued up the hill to the summit.

"Do you want to come over later to watch the ball drop?" Sarah asked. She propped the sled up against the rock at the top of the hill and adjusted her hat over her ears. The fox face, ears and tail really suited her, Frances thought.

"Doesn't that happen at midnight?" She cocked her head. "My parents would never let me come over that late."

"So come over earlier."

Reasonable. She bit her lip and tried again. "And they'd never pick me up to come home that late, either. Early."

"So get Finn to drive you home. Or stay over."

And there it was again. The last time they'd done that, certain things had come up between them, things that Frances wasn't entirely sure were normal between friends. Maybe it was only that she'd never had a friend like Sarah before, but she kind of thought it was more than that.

"You sure you want me to?" she asked. Sarah snorted.

"Would I even ask if I didn't? Come on. You've been avoiding me since Christmas." She looked hard at Frances. "I wasn't _that_ bad of a singer at the karaoke, was I?"

That made Frances laugh. "No," she said. "Not at all. You were really good. You have a beautiful voice."

Sarah's scowl transformed, first into surprise, then startled pleasure, and finally into an adorable blush. "Well... I'm not _that _good. Not like Kurt. Not like _Finn._"

Frances pulled her down onto the sled. "You don't have to be. You're like yourself. Come on. If I'm staying over tonight, we're going to get some serious sledding in now, before the sun melts it all."

* * *

><p>Timothy dangled from the crawlspace above the upstairs hallway and dropped to the floor. There were more boxes up there than he thought could possibly have been crammed into that space. Getting them down, though a lot of work, was a hell of a lot easier than putting them up there must have been. How his dad had done it, he'd never figure, except that it must have involved a ladder which was now absent from the house.<p>

_And why in hell did Ma bother to save all these old toys?_ He opened another box and dug out a plastic bag of LEGO, three My Little Ponies, a Barbie doll with cropped hair and permanent marker tattoos drawn in the same locations his dad had had them, and a large collection of Lincoln Logs. He sighed, pushing the box away and opening the next one. It seemed he'd been born without one shred of sentimentality about childhood memorabilia.

"Uh... Timmy? Timothy?" A voice called up the stairs. Timothy stood and glanced over the railing.

"Hey, Finn," he called back. "Come on up." He made a pathway to the stairs through the boxes, and even so Finn had to clamber over the last one to wedge himself into the tiny remaining space on the landing. He looked around himself at the mess.

"Wow, you've got... a lot of stuff here. Hey, I had one of these!" Finn fished the Nintendo NES out of its box, and one of the cartridges. "Puck and I used to trade games back and forth."

"Yeah, and I bet you're the one who has all my old ones." Timothy surveyed the wreckage, dangling a first gen Game Boy from his finger. "Half of this stuff was old by the time I got it. We got a lot of garage sale toys. Sarah, too, more than the rest of us, because she had certain girly needs, I guess."

Finn nodded, seeming to understand. He carefully sat, cross-legged, between a box of Hot Wheels and Puck's old skateboard, and smiled as he lifted out a box of Pokémon cards. "What are you going to do with all of this?"

"I have no idea." Timothy couldn't keep the dismay out of his voice. "Dumpster, I guess."

"What? No!" Finn just about knocked over the box of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles figurines. "Look, this stuff is worth money! At least put it on Craig's List, or eBay or something...?"

"Finn, I just don't have time for that. I have to get the house cleaned out before the bank takes possession next Wednesday, or else they're going to charge me a huge fine for disposal."

"All right, all right," said Finn. He riffled through the cards, not really looking at them. "Can you - just let me help, okay? I don't think I can deal with you throwing out all this stuff."

"Whatever," he shrugged. "It's my childhood. Why are you so attached to it?"

Finn held up the box, on which the word _Noah P._ was scrawled in Puck's haphazard writing. "It's mine, too, Timmy. Puck - we grew up together, right? I think I spent as many days at your house as I spent at my own, for a few years there. I can't separate what happened to him with what happened to me."

Timothy felt the heavy hand of history, weighing him down, and he had to sit on the box next to him. "You... really have no idea, do you, Finn."

Finn waited while Timothy paused to gather his thoughts. Eventually he said, in a surprisingly gentle voice, "I think I do."

"No, I've met your mom. I can see how she raised you, how she treated you. You really don't."

Finn nodded, slowly, and leaned his chin on his knees. "Puck said the same thing, once."

"It's a good thing, Finn. Nobody wants you to understand that shit." Timothy figured Finn could be just as good a boyfriend without having gone through what he and Noah had dealt with every day. He shrugged, trying not to feel jealous of his own little brother. _I haven't had a boyfriend in three years, but of course, first time out the gate, Noah gets two of them. Not that I'd want two. _ Then he glanced at Finn, trying to pay attention to the expression on his face. It was hard for him to figure out what people were feeling, sometimes; he had to think about it. "What's going on, Finn?"

"You don't want to know," he sighed, and dropped the Pokémon cards back into the box, closing the flaps on the cardboard lid with finality. "It's just Puck. I'm looking for him. Guessing he hasn't been here, though, huh?"

Timothy shook his head, rocking back on his heels. "What'd he do now?"

"Really, it was me. I'm going to fix it, though." Finn looked resolute. He'd never given up on Noah, not in years of heedless act-before-he thinks behavior. Not until this year - but Finn had made good faith efforts to repair that. Even Timothy, who didn't trust anybody, thought maybe Finn might be good enough for his brother.

"Well, if I hear from him, I'll give you a call, all right?" He stood and hefted two of the smaller boxes into his arms, and Finn mirrored his actions. They carried the boxes downstairs to the front room, which was largely empty now that he'd found somebody to take the couch, and started a new stack in the center of the room. "If you really want to do something with all this crap, come by before Monday, all right? Or I'm going to call the Salvation Army and have them take it all away."

"I'll come over this weekend," Finn promised. "Thanks. I'm going to go..."

"Yeah, yeah," Timothy said, turning to trudge back up the stairs. _Go save my brother before he does something stupid._

* * *

><p>Kurt turned away from the screen as his dad tried to interest him in yet another remarkable football play between Navy vs. Missouri. Eventually his dad noticed and stopped. That was one of the best things about his dad: he noticed things, even if they weren't the kind of things he wanted to notice.<p>

"Maybe we should just order pizza," Burt offered. Kurt shook his head.

"No, he said he'd make dinner. It's only two-thirty. There's still plenty of time."

Burt propped his arm on the back of the couch. "You don't even know if he's still in town."

"He said he would," Kurt repeated. He knew he sounded stubborn, knew Finn wouldn't like it one bit, and sighed, trying to relax his shoulders. "I don't think he'd let me - us - down again."

With two fingers, Burt picked at the upholstery of the cushions. He hesitated a long moment before saying, "You know I care about Puck."

"Dad..."

"Kurt, you're my son. Let me be a little protective of you, okay? Be honest - tell me he's not taking advantage of you here."

"No!" he cried, jerking up. "No - Dad, it's not like that."

"No?" Burt tossed his head angrily, and Kurt suddenly saw _himself _in his dad - something that rarely happened. "How can you justify him putting you through this? Seems to me that _you _spend an awful lot of time sitting around, fretting about Puck, until he gives up on his latest conniption fit and comes back to apologize."

"Dad..." Kurt bit his lip. He'd already said the words _I take care of him,_ and his dad hadn't gotten it. There was no way he was going to be able to explain why this was his own responsibility and not Noah's, not without getting into _details._ "I love him," was all he could say.

"Yeah, I know that - but this isn't fair to you." His dad glared reproachfully. "You don't need that, Kurt. I think I know you pretty well, and you deserve better. This isn't good for you."

"Yes, it is!" Kurt snapped. He stared his dad down, begging silently, _don't push me on this, please, just trust me - _and waited until he looked away. "He's hurting so much. He needs somebody to love him and care for him. I can do that." Kurt crossed his arms over his own chest and fought the self-recrimination. "But I didn't. That's why he fought with Finn; that's why he ran out."

His father looked perplexed. "You're saying... Puck fought with Finn because _you_ didn't do something?"

Kurt nodded silently. Burt didn't say anything more for a long minute. Finally he shifted on the couch.

"And you're telling me this is... uh. Good for you?" He didn't look like he quite believed it, but at Kurt's nod, he sighed. "All right. I guess... I'll have to trust you on that."

Kurt moved two feet across the green couch to sit right next to his dad, and tucked his arm around his waist, under the arm that was propped up. Burt looked a little startled, but not displeased, by the close contact.

"Thank you, dad," he said.

Burt nodded. "I do love him, you know. Just as I love Sarah."

Kurt felt himself blanch at the idea, not in a hurtful way, but as though in the force of a great wave or a hurricane blast. _His father, loving Noah, like that._ It was almost more wonderful than he could bear. "I know," he whispered. He swallowed back his tears and added, "Sarah said, once, that neither she nor Noah had ever been able to count on love. That love in their house was - fickle. But she could tell that you love me, all the time, no matter what."

"It's the only way I know how to do it, Kurt." His dad pulled him closer, and Kurt huddled against his chest, just for a moment.

"I know," Kurt said. "But, you see, I love him that way, too. All the time, no matter what."

"All right." Burt kissed his forehead, like he was ten years old. "I get it. I won't question you again."

* * *

><p>Finn kicked himself as he drove up to his own house and saw Puck's truck sitting in the middle of the driveway. <em>God. Had he been here all along?<em> He parked the Navigator, hopped out and hurried through the front door.

His mother was sitting on the couch, knitting something small and pink. "Mom, why didn't you call me?" he started, but she shook her head, forestalling any further comment.

"He didn't want to talk to you," she said quietly, "and I had to respect that, Finn. I knew you'd make it over here eventually." She patted the space next to herself on the couch. "Come on. Sit."

Finn walked uneasily to the cushion and sank down into it with a sigh. "Did he talk to _you,_ at least?"

"Just enough for me to get that he wanted to be left alone." She glanced at him under lowered lids, her mouth in that same smile as he'd seen earlier. "Of course, I think I know well enough to know that _wanting to be left alone_ really means _I'm only going to listen to the right person."_

His mom was really way too insightful for him not to listen to this, but he squirmed a little at the implications. "You think he's actually going to listen to me? I mean - I told you, I'm not going to - I won't. I _can't,_ not anymore. Not after what happened between us."

She nodded thoughtfully. "I know what you said, and I'm not pushing you, honey. But this is bigger than that. He'll still listen to you, even if you're not disciplining him."

He fought to keep from covering his ears at the words coming from her mouth. "Mom," he protested.

"Sorry, Finn," she said, calm as anything, as she picked up a dropped stitch and went on with her work. "We can talk this out now, or in front of Kurt and Puck, but it's going to happen someday." She raised a brow. "What's it going to be?"

He gulped a little. When she put it like _that..._ "No, I get it. I'm just... I'm pretty sure I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I'm just making it all up, and half the time I'm making mistakes - bad ones."

"Well, isn't that how we learn?" She touched him on the shoulder. "Honey, you said yourself, this is all new, for you and Kurt especially. Nobody's expecting you to be perfect."

"How can I... hurt them, though?" He whispered the words, fearing to hear himself say them. "I don't even realize I'm doing it, and then when I do I feel like crap. They don't deserve it."

"They don't deserve you?" His mom's mouth firmed, and she set her knitting in her lap with finality. "Forgive me if I disagree with you there. I think you're a pretty fantastic young man, if I do say so myself."

Finn knew just how it would feel to let himself give in to the guilt, to let himself be his mom's kid again, because he knew she could totally take care of it. But he didn't need that anymore - not like this, and not from her. He straightened his shoulders and nodded, trying to take the compliment calmly and graciously. "Thanks, mom."

"And Kurt and Puck, they think so, too."

Finn winced. "Kurt... well, I guess I fixed things there. This time. But I don't think Puck's ever going to trust me again, not like he did. I can't make it happen. I can't make him -" He threw up his hands in defeat. "I wish I could figure out how to get _through_ to him."

She considered this as she went back to her knitting. Finn watched the lines of stitching flow from her needles. "What are you making?"

"A layette for the baby," she said. Finn's vision shifted suddenly, and he could envision the scrap of pink knitting enveloping a tiny, equally pink form in her arms as she smiled down at her.

"Oh," he said.

His mom looked up at him. "Do you remember that first day when I found you looking at the picture of the ultrasound? All I could think was, _god, it's me all over again._ I was so scared for you, honey. I didn't want you to have to be a teenage father, because I know just how hard it was to be a teenage mother."

"Uh..." Finn looked at his lap. "Yeah. It was pretty scary, when I thought she was mine, for a while. And now... it's scary all over again."

She nodded. "But, Finn... that's not what I really needed to tell you."

"What?"

Her smile grew. "I had to tell you just how _good_ it was, honey. How much I loved being your mother. What that meant to me, when I was young and confused and overwhelmed with the world - that was _easy._ You were... perfect." Her needles clicked. "I don't know if it's going to be like that for you, or not, but it could be. It could still be like that, for you and Puck and Kurt. I can see it."

Finn shook his head. "I don't know, mom. I think you have more faith in us than I do, sometimes."

"Part of a mother's job," she said serenely. "When everything's a mess, we get to see the big picture. I think you'll have that, too, when the time is right. You get to see the humor in things, and laugh, when it feels like nothing is working right. Trust me - sometimes it's hard not to crack up, when your kid is saying the worst things."

He blinked. A chuckle escaped his lips. "Yeah... you know, I think I get exactly what you mean." He grinned at her. "Like, when Dad was alive, and it was so hard... you guys sometimes felt like laughing and sometimes felt like crying, and sometimes all at once?"

She ducked her head, and when she looked back up a moment later, he could see the glitter of tears in her eyes. "I remember a few of those moments very clearly," she said, softly. "Is that how it is for you and the boys?"

"Sometimes." He stared at his hands. "You think it's going to be like _that?_ How it is with us? Being a... a father?"

"Oh, Finn." He felt her warm touch on his shoulder. "It's so much more than that. And you - you're going to be a wonderful father. I never doubted that, not for one moment."

That was the end of his resistance, and he gave in to the tears that squeezed between his closed lids. "Thanks, mom."

She kissed his cheek. "Your dad would have been so proud of you."

"You think so?" Finn wished it didn't matter to him quite so much, but the idea was alluring. "I guess I thought he might, I don't know... think badly of me, because... well, because -" He gestured ineffectively at the floor.

"Because you're gay?" His mom raised an eyebrow. "Because you have... an unusual relationship? Because of what you and Kurt and Puck are doing together?"

He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. "All of it."

His mom sighed. "Well, Finn... it was a long time ago, when I married your father. Things were different. The politics around homosexuality were just beginning to arise from the stupidity of our ultra-conservative government. Stupidity that bred ideas like DOMA. Nobody was even saying the words _gay marriage_ with any sense of possibility. But now - it's real. I can't even believe it, sometimes, when I look at the world now, that we started where we were when I was your age." She tucked her knitting away into her bag, then put both arms around him and hugged him tight. "But I can tell you, with absolute certainty, that your dad was a good, honorable man. He might not have understood all your choices, but he would have respected your right to make them, and he would have loved you with every bone in his body."

Finn let himself be cradled in her confidence for another few moments before wiping his eyes and pulling back to smile at her. "I'm going to have to trust you on that."

She smiled back. "I'm your mother, aren't I? That means I'm always right."

"Oh, is that what that means?" he laughed. "Hey, if being a father means I always get to be right, believe me, I'm in."

* * *

><p>The door to Finn's bedroom wasn't locked. Finn knocked once, saying, "Hey," softly before opening the door. Puck was lying on his side on the bed, curled up with one leg tucked under his hand, facing the wall. For a moment, Finn thought he might be asleep, but then he heard him sigh.<p>

"Genius could have started at your own fucking house," he muttered. "Would have saved yourself a lot of trouble."

Finn considered that this morning he might have snapped at Puck for talking to him that way. Now, all he could do was sit on the edge of the bed and put a hand on his back. He felt Puck lean back into his touch, completing the circuit between them. It hadn't been more than six hours since the last time they'd touched, but even that had been too long.

"Yeah, well," he said. "I had a lot of running around town to do. People to see, that kind of thing."

Puck rolled over on his back to look up at Finn. He wasn't smiling. Finn restrained himself from reaching up a hand to touch his face, because he knew Puck would have just swatted it away. _One thing at a time,_ he thought, feeling the certainty inside himself. _We'll get there._

"It figures you'd have better things to do than talk to me."

Finn's smile stuck around, and he let his hand move down Puck's shoulder to his forearm, tracing the lines of the muscles with one finger. "Nope. Nothing better than that."

Puck rolled his eyes and heaved a dramatic sigh. "Always knew you were an idiot, Hudson."

"Maybe," he acknowledged. "Okay, definitely. Doesn't mean it's not true."

That crease appeared between Puck's eyebrows, the one that meant _what-the-fuck. _At the sight, Finn felt the laughter bubble up inside his chest, but he managed to restrain himself. He knew exactly what his mom meant, now, and all he could think was _if being a parent is going to be like __this?__ Okay, yeah, I'm on board._ He moved his hand from Puck's arm to his chest, feeling his chest rise and fall, the beating of his heart.

"So, what?" Puck grumbled. "You're here to make me listen to you?"

"Yeah." Finn reached behind his back and pulled the dog-eared paperback out of the waistband of his jeans. "I've got something to read to you."

Puck did a hell of a job looking _not_ interested, staring up at the ceiling, and he said, "Whatever," which Finn decided was enough of an affirmative for him to proceed. He thumbed through the book until he found the right page.

"This writer, he's kind of a comedian," Finn said, showing him the cover of Dave Barry's _Dave Barry is Not Making This Up._ "He wrote a syndicated humor column for the newspaper. This book is, like, a whole bunch of his columns. My mom thinks he's the funniest thing in the world. I don't really get it a lot of the time, to tell you the truth, but there was this one part that I thought you might appreciate. This first part is from a column about which songs they should or should not play on the radio."

He cleared his throat, and read, in as deadpan a voice as he could manage:

_On the other hand, it would not trouble me if the radio totally ceased playing ballad-style songs by Neil Diamond. I realize that many of you are huge Neil Diamond fans, so let me stress that in matters of musical taste, everybody is entitled to an opinion, and yours is wrong. Consider the song "I Am, I Said" wherein Neil, with great emotion, sings: "I am, I said / To no one there / And no one heard at all / Not even the chair." What kind of a line is that? Is Neil telling us he's surprised that the chair didn't hear him? Maybe he expected the chair to say, "Whoa, I heard THAT." My guess is that Neil Diamond was really desperate to come up with something to rhyme with "there," and he had already rejected "So I ate a pear," "Like Smokey the Bear" and "There were nits in my hair."_

Puck was still lying on his back, but now he was staring up at Finn, his _what-the-fuck_ line in full force. Finn grinned. "Wait, there's more. Next column, he gets some feedback from his readers."

_It turns out that there are some major Neil Diamond fans out there in Readerland. They sent me a large pile of hostile mail with mouth froth spewing out of the envelope seams. In the interests of journalistic fairness, I will summarize their main arguments here. "Dear Pukenose: Just who the hell do you think you are to blah blah a great artist like Neil blah blah more than 20 gold records blah blah how many gold records do YOU have, you scum-sucking wad of blah blah I personally have attended 1,794 of Neil's concerts blah blah what about "Love on the Rocks?" Huh? What about "Cracklin' Rosie?" blah blah so I listened to "Heart Light" 40 times in a row and the next day the cyst was GONE and the doctor said he had never seen such a rapid blah blah. What about "Play Me?" What about "Song Sung Blah?" Cancel my subscription, if I have one." _

Puck was still scowling until Finn got to the part where he talked about the scum-sucking wad of blah blah, and then he smirked. When Finn said "the cyst was GONE," he chuckled. "Song Sung Blah" made him laugh out loud. Finn blithely went on.

_So we can clearly see that music is a matter of personal taste. Person A may hate a particular song, such as "Havin' My Baby" by Paul Anka, who I suspect is also Neil Sedaka, and person B might love this song. But does this mean that person B is wrong? Of course not. It simply means person B is an idiot. Because some songs are just plain bad, and "Havin' My Baby" is one of them._

Now Puck was actively snorting and covering his mouth, trying to hold in his mirth. He sat up cross-legged on the bed, looking over Finn's shoulder at the book. There was an amusing cartoon on the page where he was reading, but Finn got the idea he wasn't really looking at that, or the words, either. Puck slipped an arm around Finn's waist and leaned against his shoulder as he read.

"Okay," Finn said, controlling his own giggles with an effort. "One more part."

_You Neil Diamond fans out there can stop writing irate unsigned letters telling me that I am not worthy to be a dandruff flake on Neil's head, okay? Not that I am saying Neil has dandruff. Because you have convinced me: Neil Diamond is GOD. I no longer see anything but genius in the song where he complains his chair can't hear him. Unfortunately, a lot of survey voters are not so crazy about Neil's work, especially the part of "Play Me" where he sings, "... song she sang to me, song she brang to me..." Of course I think those lyrics are brilliant; however, they brang out a lot of hostility in the readers. But not as much as "Sometimes When We Touch," sung by Dan Hill, who sounds like he's having his prostate examined by Captain Hook. _

By this time Puck was actually rolling around on the bed laughing, and Finn gave up on reading any more. It had done its job, anyway. They clutched at each other and wiped their eyes.

"Holy shit," gasped Puck. "Glee... totally needs to do that song, don't you think?"

"What, the one by Dan Hill?" Finn leaned against the wall, grinning, while Puck pulled himself together. "God. I don't think I'm going to be able to drive straight the next time I hear it on the radio." He picked up the book and hit Puck over the head with it. "My mom gave me this to read the forty-seven-bazillionth time I listened to those Neil Diamond CDs of your dad's. It was her revenge, I think. Now I can't decide if I should laugh or cry when I hear them. Maybe both."

"Maybe," Puck agreed. "I know, they're so much about my dad, I always feel a little weird when I sing them. Like maybe I shouldn't - because he fucked me up so bad. But they're kind of part of me."

"Yeah." Finn grabbed Puck's hand and clasped it tight, and Puck squeezed back. He loved feeling the tendons in their forearms strain with the pressure. "You can be fucked up, you know. I love those parts of you, too."

Puck kept his eyes on their joined hands. "What if I think you deserve better?"

"Not really your choice, is it?" He tucked their hands into the space between their bodies, warm and safe. He couldn't count the number of times they'd sat on this bed together over the past eight years. He didn't want to stop counting them.

"I don't want you to leave," Finn said. "Not ever again. No matter how hard things get. Even if you think you're not good enough. I don't ever want you to give up on us." He put his hand on top of theirs. "I won't, either. Not again."

Puck shivered, but Finn figured it wasn't because it was cold in there. He put an arm around Puck's shoulder and wedged him into his body as close as he could get him, one hand on his back, the other stroking his hair. He breathed him in, and he had to remind himself to keep breathing after that. "God," he whispered.

"I won't, Finn," Puck said, his voice muffled in Finn's chest. "I won't. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry." Finn knew it wasn't exactly what Puck needed to hear from him, but it was all he could offer. He could feel it in their bodies, connected there on the bed, the apology, the understanding that _this is going to have to be enough for now._ Even if it wasn't.

"Kurt wants to give you what you need," he said, and he felt Puck freeze for a moment. "He said he wants to. I just thought I should say something, so you won't be surprised later."

"Uh." Puck pulled his head back and gazed up at Finn. He was a picture of conflict. Finn felt it gnawing at him, the uncertainty, and he wrinkled his nose.

"Are you... do you think maybe you don't want that?"

"What? No - no." Puck shook his head. "That's not what I was... I mean, Kurt does do that, sometimes. You were there, the other day?"

"I think he wasn't sure he could do it well enough, or hard enough, you know?" Finn tried to tug him back down, but Puck resisted. "So what's the problem?"

"I... I'm not even sure how to say this." Puck sighed. "Adam was here. Last night. He showed up at my place."

The first thing Finn felt was a tumult of jealousy. _Why does this... guy get to have him, when I can't?_ Luckily, that seemed to pass fairly quickly, and he even found himself laughing a little. Here Puck was, in his arms, and if it wasn't the same as it had been, it was still pretty damn good. "Wow," he said. "That was a surprise?"

"Completely," Puck nodded fervently. "I think if I'd had something heavy in my hand, I would have clocked him with it. He got Carl to let him in. It was this whole set-up."

Finn realized now who the mysterious man must have been on Carl's house phone the other day. "Wow," he said again. "So... he's gone now?" Then he got it. "You don't want Kurt to know."

"See, that's the thing," said Puck, picking at the hem of his t-shirt. "I think it might hurt Kurt's feelings. And I don't want him to have a problem when he sees my... uh. If he's going to..." He turned pained eyes on Finn. "He did a number on my ass. What do you think I should do?"

Finn didn't hesitate. "No hiding," he said. "No lies. Right?"

Puck sighed. "Yeah. I guess."

"Puck, seriously. Kurt said he _wanted_ to know about Adam. Remember?" The clenching in his gut was less, now, when he thought of Puck and Adam together. "I want to know, too," he added.

Finn didn't touch Puck's chin, didn't pull his face toward his, but it was almost as though he had. "When you told me about Carl, last night... I kind of freaked out about that."

"Really?" He felt a shock. "I didn't think you even _got _jealous."

"Sometimes. But it wasn't because I didn't want you to have it. I just... I wanted it, too. I was missing Adam, a whole fucking lot."

Finn nodded, and smiled tentatively. "And you got it, right?"

"Yeah. I did." He still looked puzzled. "So today, my complete meltdown? Doesn't make any sense at all."

Finn took his hand again. "No, I get it. Kurt, he was upset when you weren't there in the morning. Kurt wasn't in control, or me, either. It totally makes sense that you would get... nervous."

Puck let out a frustrated growl. "I'm just not used to... to _depending_ on people."

"But that's what you want, right?" He squeezed his hand. "Kurt, and Adam. You want them to be in charge." _And me,_ he didn't say, but he saw the expression on Puck's face, and he knew he was thinking it, too.

"I don't know." Puck hunched over himself, like there was a fist pressing into his gut. "I really don't fucking _know._"

Finn was baffled. "You don't know if you want it? Really?"

"I don't know if I _should,"_ he spat out. "Babies need their papas to be strong. What kind of a fucking father am I going to be if I'm not even in charge of _myself?"_

Finn's laugh of relief made Puck bristle. "No, I'm not laughing at you," he assured him. "I'm not. But - Puck, I think you _need_ this to be a good father. I think without it, you're just going to... to explode, or something." He cocked his head. "You _really _think it would be easier to deal with everything that goes along with being a dad if you're also dealing with all that stress inside yourself?"

Puck didn't answer. Finn gave up trying to pretend there was any kind of line to be crossed between them anymore. He grabbed Puck by the shoulder and the waist and lifted him bodily, squawking, onto his lap. "Finn!"

"Dude, shut up," he muttered. "Nobody's watching. Let me at least do this for you, okay?"

Puck struggled for another ten seconds, but Finn held him tight, tight as he would hold Kurt, but for a completely different reason. Eventually Puck gave in, and Finn felt the last remaining unsettled pieces inside him find their places. They breathed together in silence.

"And it doesn't make me... a total loser to need this?" Puck whispered.

"No," said Finn firmly. "Not a loser."

He pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, until Puck turned his head and their lips connected. He made a noise, and heard it echoed back to him in Puck's own voice.

Finn didn't think he should speak the word in his head, but Puck said it anyway.

"Yours."

Finn closed his eyes, rocked by the wave of emotion. "You... you sure you still want that from me?"

He felt him shrug. "Don't think I really have a choice."

"You do," Finn insisted. "We can just be friends. Boyfriends, whatever. We don't have to have that... other stuff. If you don't want it, from me."

The silence felt like it lasted a million years. Finn's stomach tensed, and he clutched Puck tighter in his arms.

"Do you really think I could honestly be around you," Puck murmured, his voice thick, "and not want that? Like, ever?"

Finn felt his shoulders drop, and he let out an enormous breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding in. "Okay."

Then his lips had to be on Puck's, his hands on his shoulders, pressing him into the bed with absolute insistence. _Mineminemine, _said his reptilian brain, claiming Puck with his teeth, his fingers, the force of his body on top of his. It didn't matter how many other people had laid this claim on Puck before him. He wasn't a body divided, to be portioned out in sections; a haunch for this boy, a shoulder for that girl. Puck gave himself entirely, completely, and that was just how Finn took him.

"Finn," Puck gasped, just at that moment before Finn's cock drove into him, and the action transformed the sound of Finn's name into a groan of desire. Finn stilled his body with an effort, fearing he'd done something wrong, but Puck just tossed his head and wrapped his legs around Finn's back, forcing him deeper. This time they both made the groan.

"You said," he spoke into Finn's ear, determined and on the verge of tears. "You said - you were done with me."

"Not ever again," Finn vowed, as solemn a promise as he'd ever made.

Puck nodded quickly, his breath coming short as he thrust up against him. "I think... I might not believe you for a while."

It hurt, but Finn understood, and he just kissed him gently and said, "It's okay, man. I'll say it whenever you need to hear it. Every day."

"Fuck, Finn," he moaned. He dug his fingernails into Finn's back through his t-shirt. "Every day. That's what I need."

In that moment, there wasn't anything Finn wouldn't have promised him. _Everything,_ he thought, feeling Puck's tension mounting, hovering on the edge of his own release. _Anything. All my life._

Afterwards, sweaty and panting atop his bedspread, Finn was unable to do much else except drape one arm over Puck's waist and lie there in a heap, wishing he knew who to thank for this moment, for giving him his best friend back.

* * *

><p>They dropped Puck's truck off at the garage before heading back over to Kurt's, because it was starting to make some pretty terrifying noises, and Puck didn't know enough about what the fuck was going on to make any good decisions on his own. He figured Burt would be able to tell what it was in about three seconds, but not today. Today was New Year's Eve, and he was making them dinner.<p>

Puck had Finn stop at Whole Foods, because at this late hour he was going to have to cut some corners. It would still be awesome, just slightly less epic. Simple was okay.

"Artichokes," Finn suggested, and even though they weren't locally in season, Puck figured they'd still be tasty enough. He had the spinach from Britt's winter garden to make a salad with almonds and mandarin oranges, but he would do artichokes too, steamed with aioli and drawn butter. He had freshly shelled boiled peanuts for them to snack on - he'd coat them with chili-lime and toast them, along with the five-spice pistachios - before he served the stew. It had been in the slow cooker since the day before, and it ought to be fantastic by tonight. And he'd made pomegranate tarts days ago, but he couldn't resist buying the eclairs he saw in the bakery case, mostly because he couldn't stop himself imagining what Kurt would look like when he stuck his tongue inside them to get the custard out.

"What's this?" Finn held up the bag of what looked like barley, poking through the groceries.

"Farro," Puck said. "It's awesome." He recovered the bag of grain from Finn's hands and exchanged it for a cashew nut roll.

"For me?" Finn grinned, completely delighted.

"Dork," Puck muttered, but Finn hauled him in for a kiss until he was smiling, too.

Sarah met him at the door and took the grocery bag from his arms. She looked hard at Finn, and then at him, and at their joined hands, before turning away, apparently satisfied.

"You need my help with dinner?" she asked.

"When do I not, squirt?" he replied, but any other words he might have said were cut short by Kurt's appearance in the doorway. His eyes were glowing like coals, his jaw was working, and his hands were clenched.

"Uh-oh," Finn muttered. "I think I'll - uh." He skirted around Kurt and vanished downstairs. Kurt reached out and took Puck by the arm.

"Let me tell you a story, _Noah,"_ Kurt said grimly, leading him into the kitchen. "Once upon a time there was a young man who left his home and the boys who loved him, in search of something undefined in Santa Fe. He didn't call, he didn't text, and he didn't let anyone know how he was doing. For a _week."_

"Kurt, I - hey!" Puck pulled halfheartedly at Kurt's grasp.

"Oh, wait, it gets better. After he finally did come home, and the boys who loved him stopped having heart attacks, and it seemed as though he might have developed a _tiny _amount of respect for his family... he threw a fit because his boyfriend finally got something he'd been needing for weeks. And then, guess what he did? He left home. He didn't call, he didn't text... sound familiar? All because he himself wasn't getting something he could have _asked for all along."_

Kurt's glare became razor-edged, and Puck found himself cringing away from it. And then, Kurt sighed, losing all his rancor.

"Which, I suppose, was my fault." He touched the back of Puck's hand. "I'm sorry, Noah."

"You - what? No." Puck shook his head. "You don't have to apologize. I should have come to you. I mean, even Dr. Howell said I needed to ask, if it wasn't enough."

Kurt smiled sadly. "But I knew you were uncomfortable about something, and I should have pushed to find out more. Instead I was so wrapped up in my own self-centered anxiety about you and Finn that I didn't realize what you needed from _me." _

Kurt slipped in and put his slender arms around Puck, and for the third time that day, Puck felt like he'd found a little piece of perfection. _Adam, then Finn, then Kurt,_ he thought, dazed. _God. How did I deserve this?_

"I have to tell you something," he said.

Kurt's embrace didn't falter, but he held Puck a little tighter. "I'm listening, sweetheart."

"Adam was at my place. Last night. It was a complete surprise; he didn't even tell me he was coming, and he just... uh. He took care of me." He looked away when Kurt pulled back to meet his eyes, but Kurt turned his head gently with one hand. He didn't look at all upset now.

"That's... amazing, Noah," he breathed. "I'm so happy that you got what you needed."

Puck shook his head, incredulous. "Even if it wasn't from you?"

Kurt thought about that. "I think so, yes," he said. "I'm a little surprised at myself, but... I love you, and when you're happy, when you can be your whole self, I'm happy, too." His smile faltered. "But if you saw him last night, if he was here... why were you so upset this morning?"

"Because of Finn, I guess. He wasn't giving _you_ want you needed, and I just... everything I'd been thinking, all the awful things, they all came out at once, you know?" He leaned into Kurt's hand, brushing against his chest.

"That was about me?" Kurt sounded a little awed.

"Partly. I think it was more about me, though. When Finn's not strong, I kind of... get pissed. Try to make him notice, to fix it."

Kurt's hands made soothing circles on his back. "Yes, I know. I do that, too."

He made a face. "I feel like an idiot, when I realize I'm doing it, but..."

"But you can't stop yourself. I understand - believe me, I do." Kurt took Puck's arms in his hands. "You can't feel bad for being who you are, Noah. The two of you have always been that way together. And he loves you, just as you are. Just as I do. All the time, no matter what. Okay?"

Puck could feel his face heating. "Fuck, Kurt," he muttered. "Yeah. Okay."

Kurt's hands gripped him more firmly. "And no more running away?"

He squirmed a little, but nodded. "You and Finn, both, jeez? All right, all right - no more."

"You might get it again from my dad." Kurt kissed him, once, then took his hand. "I know better than to offer to help with dinner, but at some point... I might want you to take a little break."

Puck felt the tingle of anticipation begin at the base of his spine. "Okay," he said faintly. "I think I can do that."

"Oh, yes," Kurt said, smiling. "You will."

* * *

><p>They couldn't exactly all fit on the green couch, the seven of them, but if Puck sat on the floor in front of Kurt, and Sarah and Frances dragged the coffee table away and sprawled next to him, they could manage to wedge in together before the television.<p>

"You're sure you don't want to invite him over?" Carole asked Finn in an undertone, but he shook his head.

"I'm going over there to watch football tomorrow. It's okay."

Carole gestured at the two girls on the floor. "Sarah has Frances over. I didn't want you to think you couldn't -"

"Mom." Finn raised an eyebrow. "I'm fine. It's not that I don't want to see him. It's... not an easy relationship. It's been a hard couple days, and I just need to relax. Just be home, with my family."

Kurt didn't say anything, but Puck saw him interlace his fingers with Finn's. Puck leaned his head back into Kurt's lap.

"Family," echoed Carole to herself. "Yes. This is a good day for that."

Kurt leaned over and whispered into Puck's ear, "Don't forget to call Adam."

"It's not even nine o'clock there," he said. "And he's performing tonight at Gridlock LA. Said he'd be completely out of contact until tomorrow morning."

"Yes, and he _also_ said you should call him every night." Kurt kissed the back of his neck. "This is me, doing my job."

The warm feeling that bloomed in Puck's chest was not entirely unfamiliar, but it had been a while since he'd felt it like that, with all of them together. He let himself be completely immersed in it, for just a moment: to believe this was how it always would be, the six of them together. _And sometimes more of us,_ he thought.

"Timothy didn't answer my call," Carole said. "But it seems like he does that, sometimes. Am I right?"

Puck's lips twisted. "Yeah. You think _I'm_ good at running away. But I figure he'll be around, when he wants to be."

"Perhaps. I think he might need some reminders, every now and then, that he's still welcome." She nudged him. "You might give him one of those yourself, on occasion."

"You think?" He felt startled, but nodded. "Yeah. Maybe you're right."

"Of course I am," she said. "I'm the mother. I'm always right." That made both Burt and Finn crack up - though Puck suspected they were doing it for completely different reasons - and Carole smiled smugly.

Sarah had to shake Frances awake when the ball dropped at midnight. To Puck, it seemed like a singularly anticlimactic event, but Kurt insisted on each person having a glass of something to drink. He raised his sparkling grape juice as they counted down the last minute of 2009, and they all copied him.

"Happy 2010, everyone," he said, and clinked his glass with Burt's.

"That's it?" Sarah frowned, leaning back on her hands. "That's all? No fancy speech, no words of wisdom?"

"Sorry," Kurt shrugged. "Too happy."

"You're supposed to kiss people at midnight, right?" Puck pointed at the television, which indicated twenty-seven more seconds. "So who gets to kiss who?"

"Whom," said Kurt automatically, but then he hesitated, glancing at Frances. She colored.

"I don't need to kiss anybody," she said, sounding a little panicked.

"Nobody's going to make you," Burt assured her. "And Kurt, you get to kiss whoever you want. Whomever. Whatever. Your house, you get to choose."

"Sixteen seconds," Finn said. Kurt tugged on Puck's shoulder until he turned around to face him. He took his and Finn's joined hands and put them on Puck's.

"I choose you," he said to Finn, looking deep into his eyes. Then he turned to Puck. "And you."

They leaned in together, the three of their heads touching, as the seconds of 2009 ticked away. "To new beginnings, and old friendships," whispered Finn. "And possibilities."

Kurt touched his face. "To trust."

"To us," said Puck. "And everything that's coming."

A three-person kiss is awkward. There are too many noses, and lips don't quite reach one another, and inevitably somebody laughs at just the wrong time. But life is awkward, too, and in the end, the three of them managed it pretty well.

"That first week." Finn spoke quietly, just for them. He took Puck's hand, and Kurt's, and they held on together in their circle. "We made this promise. And then we did it again, a week later. Now it's been two months." He shot a look at Kurt. "Right?"

"Exactly two months tonight," Kurt agreed.

"Okay. So... I thought, maybe, we should plan to do this again. Maybe in a year."

Puck considered it, watching both of their faces. "Dude, what are you saying?"

"Nothing," Finn insisted, shaking his head, but Puck clutched at his hand.

"No," he said, hearing his own volume increase. "You're saying something here."

But Kurt was calm. "You're just saying we should do it again in a year."

"That's all I'm saying," Finn said, nodding and looking relieved. "So what do you think?"

Kurt nodded too. "I think that's a good plan. One year."

"One year's kind of a long time," said Puck. He could feel the anxiety creeping over his shoulders, into his back. Then he felt the pressure of Kurt's hand, and Finn's, and he took a deep breath.

"We can handle a year," Finn said. "It's just another year. And then... well, let's just start right here."


	47. Epilogue

_Epilogue_

Puck found Burt sitting at the kitchen table. The clock read 2:49.

"What was your dream about tonight?" he asked. His eyes looked tired.

Puck slid into the chair across from him, taking the mug of warm milk waiting for him. "You really want to know?"

That got him a grin. "Huh. Maybe not?"

"It was her, again," Puck relented. "Nothing embarrassing. She was playing in a tub of rice. You know, picking up the cup and pouring it out, filling it up and pouring it out, over and over, like that?"

"Kurt used to have that, at his preschool. A big table full of beans, or sand." Burt took a sip from his cup.

Puck glanced into his mug, brimming with milk. "Sometimes I feel like that. Like I'm the cup, and sometimes I'm full, and sometimes I'm empty." He took a long drink.

"Uh-huh," said Burt. "So what fills you up?"

Now his mug was nearly empty. "Maybe you don't want to know that, either."

Burt laughed. "This whole damn house. One big pile of TMI. All right, then, come on. It's two in the morning. I think I can handle it."

Puck nodded, watching the cinnamon make patterns in the milk. _Trusted, just trusted._ "Finn. Finn... fills me up."

"I got that." Burt was doing his damnest not to look away. "What else?"

"And Kurt. And the two of them, together. They give me what I need." He took another swallow. "And... Adam, and the people I visited in Santa Fe. Them, too."

"That's a lot of people. What else?"

"Uh. Sarah?" He watched Burt nod. "And... cooking. Playing music. Maybe football, a little. I guess that's it."

Burt pushed his mug across the table so it touched Puck's. They were both empty, now. "Can I add one more?"

Puck wasn't sure what to say, so he just waited. Burt let out an exasperated sigh. "You're not making this very easy, Puck."

"Making what easy?"

Burt played with his fingers. Then he said, "What do you do, when you're really scared about something?"

Puck was caught off-guard by the question, and found himself answering more honestly than he probably would have, if it hadn't been two in the morning. "I - mostly I run away. Sometimes I freak out and yell. Or - or hit someone, apparently." He chewed his lip. "I would never do that to Kurt, you know that? I _never _would."

"He wouldn't ever let you, anyway," Burt said, with a faint smile. "I believe you, though."

Puck stood up, feeling the need to move. He took the mugs to the sink and rinsed them out, and stared into the drain.

"A couple months ago, I was cleaning out my fridge," he said. "I found this glass container with a plastic lid. There was... something inside. It was kind of cloudy, I couldn't really tell what it was, or what it used to be. It looked kind of like meat. Scary. I had no idea how long it had been in there."

Burt stared at him. "You? In _your_ fridge?"

"It wasn't a good month," Puck muttered. "Anyway... I put the container in the sink and looked at it for, like, three days. Every day I'd think about washing it out, and then I'd think, _I bet it's going to smell really, really bad. It'll make the whole kitchen smell bad. I don't really want to open it. _And then I'd leave it there for another day." He set the clean mugs upside down in the dish drainer.

"Okay," said Burt.

"Yeah. And then... well, one day, I just picked it up and said, fuck this. I opened it." He looked at Burt. "You know what was inside?"

"Is this another thing I really don't want to know?"

"Heh. No... it was oatmeal. Just regular oatmeal. Kind of old, and a little lumpy, but... not scary at all. Not even really smelly. I dumped it into the trash, and that was it."

Burt nodded slowly. He pushed his own chair out and came to stand beside Puck at the sink. "So, what?"

"So I think... I think maybe a lot of things in life are like that. I think they're going to be meat, scary meat, and that they're going to stink everything else up if I open them. But usually, they just turn out to be... oatmeal." He shrugged. "So maybe I shouldn't be so scared all the time."

Burt's eyes crinkled at the corners, they way they did when he was particularly moved. Puck wasn't sure why he would be, at a story about zombie oatmeal, but really, he wasn't going to complain. "Yeah. Maybe I shouldn't be, either." He took a deep breath.

"Puck... it's a new year now. We get to move on, start over. All the things that happened last year, they're still part of you, but you've got a chance here to make a difference for your sister, for all of us. For yourself. For me." He put his hands on Puck's shoulders, holding on. "I want you to make this your home. For good."

It almost made him cry, to be asked like this, but Puck shook his head. "I told you. This isn't my home."

"But it could be, Puck," Burt insisted. "If you want it to be. Yours, and your daughter's."

Puck blinked. His vision swam, and for a moment, he could _see,_ in the crystal-clarity of dreams, the tub of rice, her cup coming down, scooping it up, dumping it out - and Burt, sitting right there beside her.

"It's already too crowded here," he said.

"So I'll give up my office," Burt countered. "I don't really need it anyway."

Puck cast his eyes desperately around the room. "This place is crap for cooking in."

"I know. You've managed so far. We'll deal." His hands on Puck's shoulders felt remarkably familiar. "Puck... this isn't scary meat. It's just oatmeal. Really."

Standing in Kurt's kitchen, Puck stared back at Burt's kind blue eyes. Inside, nine-year-old Noah, who'd been abandoned by his father, made a list of all the reasons why he shouldn't believe him - much quicker than he could actually have written or read it. But grown-up Puck, _Papa_ Puck, shouldered him aside and drew a firm line through every one of the items on his list. At the bottom, he wrote one single line: _This is your family. _

"Promise?" he whispered.

Burt made a sound in his throat, and he gave Puck a wobbly smile. "Promise," he said.

He let Burt hug him, and even hugged back a little. "We'll talk more in the morning, all right?" He thought he felt the ghost of a kiss brush his cheek. "Right now, you need to get back to bed."

If it had been his Ma talking to him that way, he would have said _yeah,_ or _whatever,_ or possibly _fuck you. _But this was Burt. Burt, who'd raised Kurt to love him, all the time, no matter what. Who loved his sister that way. Who'd let him stay at his house, had treated him like an adult, and had never given him a reason _not_ to trust him, for any reason - even though he'd given Burt plenty, himself. Who'd made him warm milk and sat up with him when he couldn't sleep, and held him when his Ma had died. Who'd accepted things about him he could barely even understand himself, just because that was what you did, when you loved somebody.

"Yes, sir," he said. "And thank you. For everything."

THE END

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: you - yeah, you. I'm talking to you, the person reading this. You're awesome, you know that? Because you just waded your way through 300,000+ words of emotionally charged, complicated, confusing-as-fuck melodrama. With spanking. I loved writing every word of it, and there's so much more to come. I hope it meant half as much to you to read it as it did for me to write it. Many of the chapters have been completed in the middle of the night, my children sleeping upstairs, while tears ran down my face. Anyone who ever tries to tell you fanfiction doesn't matter, I'm here to say they're wrong. Writing this story has changed my life.<em>

_Those of you who have been having a hard time suspending disbelief about the Donutverse, rest assured, most of what happened in this story would fit just perfectly into my own life. I'm kind of an ordinary person, if you don't count the complicated bits. And those of you who are part of that ordinary life, and are reading now, I love you with all my heart. _

_I'm also a mother, and if you think Carole and Burt could never really actually be this cool in real life, you've never met my parents. Yeah, and if my parents are reading this (and they very well might be), I love you, too. _

_A few special thank-yous:_

_- Knittycat99, for inspiration unparalleled, for watching me write, for the scene with the three boys that inspired so much of this story, for Toby, for Blaine, for giving us your perfect Dave and Kurt to help us write our own, for the shawl you knitted me, for all of the pieces of the story you give me every day, knowing or otherwise. For loving me, all the time, no matter what. _

_- Flinchflower, for reminding me why I'm writing this and keeping my eye on what matters, for constant writerly support and unflinching honesty, for being the best zebra ever, for understanding and loving Adam as much as I do, for James, for Sam and Dean, for John, for all of Tessera, and god, THANK YOU for Tess. For loving me, all the time, no matter what._

_- Songirl77, for focus and overwhelming, passionate inspiration of all kinds, for giving me all your words and for always reading mine, for believing in me and never forgetting to tell me, even when I was falling apart and certain it was all crap, for all the parts of this story that are really about us, for Will's song, for Puck's song. For loving me, all the time, no matter what, ma'am. _

_- Supergreak, for absolutely hilarious reviews, for lifting me up when I was down, for Brittany's garden (and Toby's, to come), for Sarah's karaoke, for caring about my little characters as though they were your own, all the time, no matter what._

_- Penthea8, for sharing *your* perfect Dave with me, and because OMG OMG she really, really likes me. All the time, no matter what._

_- All those of you who have commented, ever, positively or not, because I always respond to reviews. And all of you who have never commented, but have read through to the end. I love you, every one of you, all the time. No matter what._


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